


Carnival of Faces

by WickedWitchofCupcakes



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Fencing, Foggy London streets, King Hannibal, London, London monarchy, Love/Hate, M/M, Regency, Regency Romance, Sir William Graham, Snowy London countryside, Swordfighting, cravats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 55,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWitchofCupcakes/pseuds/WickedWitchofCupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sir William Graham attends a masquerade ball held in his honor for catching a dangerous killer, he meets a strange man in a stag mask, and a boring evening becomes more exciting. After the encounter, Will's search for the elusive Ripper is given new life while threatening to consume his own and Will is led down a dangerous path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Masquerade Ball

**Author's Note:**

> So funny story. I actually started this piece as a one shot with just this first chapter. And then I realized that that wasn't enough for me so I turned it into a very long multi chapter story. And I'm very happy with the final product, and I hope you will be too!

Will Graham anxiously watched the carnival of masks parade past his post beside the towering pillar rimmed with a crown of golden leaves. As each new mask flit by, his eyes were drawn to the intricate lace designs that echoed the curling spirals painted on the mask. He carefully watched a smiling clown mask waltz past him. Will tried to glance beneath the plump porcelain lips of the mask to uncover who its wearer was. He was forced to give up after the carousel of masks spun the woman away.

The black lace on Will's own raven mask was beginning to irritate his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to remove it. Since Jack had been swept away into the party and left Will alone, the stretched beak of his raven mask grew heavier and heavier with each passing dance. He barely ever knew anyone at these parties, but now the masks made it unbearable. Again, his eyes scanned the party for a sign of Jack's fire-orange rooster mask.

He didn't find Jack, but through the haze of brightly colored costumes he caught sight of a stag mask intently staring at him from across the room. Will judged he must have been staring for at least a few minutes before he had noticed. The stag's stares made Will feel even more conspicuous than he already felt, and he cursed himself for wearing a darkly colored costume to such a glittery event.

Taking another glance back in the stag's direction, Will noticed that the stag was dressed even darker than he was. His all black attire popped out from the golden gowns of the other guests. As Will kept eye contact, the stag sprung to life and faded into the party. Will was surprised, and a bit envious, that such a black costume could so quickly meld in.

Just then, the waltz ended and Will was debating whether or not to ask the butterfly mask if she'd like to dance with him in the next one. He was half-certain underneath the mask dotted with pink and purple wings was Countess Bloom, but even he could not be sure if that dark-brown hair truly belonged to her.

"Curious, isn't it?" a soothing voice said, halting Will's thoughts on the butterfly mask. The question was barely more than a whisper and Will turned to find where it came from. He already had a hunch who the voice belonged to and he was proven correct when he once again laid eyes upon the stag mask. From up close, the fine freckles of darker brown could be seen and the shading of the mask better appreciated. He could also now see the eyes that peered back at him, dark and focused yet with a slight hint of intrigue. Will wasn't sure if it meant he should be intrigued or if the man was intrigued by him.

"There are numerous "curiosities" here tonight," Will said, daring to engage in conversation with the stranger, even going so far as to add a light jovial tone to his words. "Which do you find is worth commenting on?" Will asked. The man's mask stopped above his mouth, and Will could see his lips twitch in anticipation.

"You," the stag said.

"Me?" Will asked, caught slightly off guard.

"You are Sir William Graham, I assume?" the stag asked. Will nodded.

"Just Will."

"Will," the man said, testing the name on his lips. Will watched a heavy-set man in a pig mask teeter over to a nearby butler.

"I suppose it is rather curious that this masquerade is in my honor, yet I've been lingering on the edge of the dancefloor," Will admitted.

"I'm sure our host would find that a bit rude," the stag said. Will revealed a small smile as he gazed out over the dancers, not noticing the man glance over his mediocre costume made of imposter silk and up to the dark curls of his hair that fell over the edges of his raven mask. If a person was looking closely, the high quality of the mask was clearly out of place with the rest of Will's attire.

"If our host were here," Will pointed out. "So perhaps I'm not the most curious person here tonight."

"I'm sure there are many here that find your methods of catching the Scarlet Shrike to be curious," the stag said as they both watched the dancers twirl by.

"Only curious because they don't understand," Will said.

"Quite unfortunate that society's first instinct when met with something it doesn't understand is to denounce it as mere witchcraft," the stag said. Will looked away from the dancers, his lips thinner than before.

"Quite unfortunate," he said, barely audible. "How curious that now they dance in my honor?"

"They dance because with your victory they think they are safe," the stag said. "You gave this to them."

"I didn't give them anything. They're still not safe," Will said, eyeing the pig mask who was slobbering on the poor butler. "The Scarlet Shrike is not the only killer loose in the night."

"Are you referring to the Ripper?" the stag asked, his eyes glinting beneath the mask. Will tugged at the lace of his sleeve.

"You were the captain who almost caught him after the murders on the Rue Norman?" the stag asked. There was a slight ring to the way he said Rue Norman that made Will pause.

"Almost," Will said. "And then the trail went cold."

"You got closer than anyone else to catching him," the stag said. "Using your unorthodox methods."

Will felt a new unease at the stag's words. This was a different form of discomfort from what he felt because of the party. Working with the King's investigators had taught him to recognize his suspicions. For the first time, Will examined the stag, who was gazing out at the crowd. But Will was unable to notice anything beyond the mask and he was forced to pause when the stag returned his gaze. He tilted his head slightly and smiled, as if encouraging Will's curiosity.

"You seem terribly interested in my job," Will said, his voice hard with distrust.

"Your job? No," the stag said. "There are plenty of investigators to converse with here. But there is only one Will Graham."

At this, Will hesitated and his instinct faltered. He realized he must have mistaken his gut feeling. The many unknown faces of the masquerade must have put him on edge. He regretted drinking as much wine as he did, but he had needed it to survive this party.

Then, a rooster with a flaming headdress appeared among the zoo of masks. The beak of Will's raven mask tilted up and the man with the stag mask noticed this.

Suddenly, Will's head whipped around as a silver plate clattered on the marble floor near them, also gathering the attention of a few of the dancers, including the butterfly mask. The glasses of red wine the butler had been serving had shattered and tendrils of wine crawled across the shards of broken glass. The man in the pig mask harshly reprimanded him, as he profusely apologized from his knees. Will's eyes narrowed, but his focus left as he felt the brush of the stag's long cloak brush past him.

The man stood in the dim light just beyond the pillars. Will paused before deciding that his desire to discover what lay underneath the stag mask was worth having to find Jack again. So he left the room illuminated by the crystalline chandelier, which carefully watched the dancing floor, to join the stag in the darker hallway.

"I thought perhaps night air might lighten your spirits," the stag explained. He continued down the hallway, his cloak bellowing out behind him. Will followed and the light voice of the violins faded away.

"Don't you think our host might find this rude?" Will asked. The stag smirked.

"I think he would understand."

"You speak as if you're good friends with the king," Will said, walking side by side with the stag. Their synchronized footsteps echoed down the long, empty hallways as they passed portrait after portrait of long dead rulers and court officials. "And you certainly seem to know your way around the palace."

"A good king should be on good terms with all his citizens," the stag mask said. Will couldn't disagree. He'd never met the king, but it wasn't hard for Will to imagine him after walking down the expensive hallways that the king must have found mundanely unimpressive. As a man that threw parties and feasts every day it didn't rain, Will guessed that he must be good friends with excess.

The stag paused outside a door framed by two candelabras. He took one and led Will into the dark room. In the dim light, Will could make out a silk-covered bed, a desk with a row of neat books, and a polished dresser. He had the distinct feeling that he didn't belong here, yet the stag mask walked with an air of familiarity. Will cautiously followed the stag through a glass door.

After the stuffy ballroom, the crisp night air heightened Will's senses. With a deep breath, he gripped the beak of his mask and carefully removed it. His vision no longer restricted, he gazed out at the quiet city from the balcony. The few lights that dotted the streets were unimpressive compared to multitude of stars and the crescent moon against the expanse of the black sky. Will followed the city lights as they slowly dwindled away from the houses near the palace and the impressive opera house to the poorer districts. Against his better judgement, he was drawn to the street where the Ripper murders had taken place. His hands gripped the rough stone balcony.

The stag placed his gloved hand on the balcony, close to Will's. Will glanced down at it and noticed that he'd not taken the stag mask off.

"Are you remembering the Ripper murders?" The stag asked. Will brushed a lock of hair from his eyes as he answered yes.

"The view is stunning, yet it is ruined by the knowledge that there is a killer roaming those darkened streets," the stag said. "Looking for his next victim, someone vulnerable, someone young and healthy, someone from the poor district. Did you ever uncover why?"

"He chose from the poor district so as to avoid extreme repercussions. The amount of importance placed on a murder is an exact correlation to the wealth and influence of the victim," Will explained. He swallowed before adding, "And he wanted someone young and healthy because he was eating them."

"It must have been difficult to find a liver that had not been rotted by overconsumption," the stag said. Will's hand froze as he brushed a piece of his hair behind his ear. They had never revealed that all the victims had been missing their livers. He quickly replayed his strange conversations with the stag, and found a clarity that had been missing all evening. He let his hand rest on the balcony, but he clenched it.

"A masquerade ball is a curious thing, isn't it?" he said. The stag listened closely. "We don't know if we're in a room full of close friends or strangers. And it gives us a certain freedom, an anonymity. Yet, all of this is negated if we reveal our identities lurking beneath the mask."

"An interesting philosophy," the stag said. Will turned to him and watched the amused eyes behind the mask.

"Tell me," Will said. "What's lurking beneath your mask?"

The man smiled and Will could see crinkles appear around his eyes.

"I think it's only fair that if I show you what's beneath my mask, you show me what's beneath yours," the stag said.

Will's face twitched into a frown of confusion and he was suddenly very uncomfortable with his close proximity to the stag's searching eyes. The stag smiled affectionately as Will stepped backward. But, before he could, the stag grabbed his wrist that still rested upon the balcony. Will was pulled off balanced, and with a firm push, the stag knocked him over the edge.

"It was a pleasure to finally meet face to face," he said, and he tossed the raven mask over. It fluttered past Will, its black ribbons waving in the wind.

Will clutched the edge of the balcony, his feet swinging desperately below him. He watched the feet of the man he'd been pursuing for months effortlessly cross the room, his cloak still bellowing out behind him as a last goodbye to Will. But this only filled Will with determination. As he heard the door open and click shut, he pulled himself up and over the balcony.

He didn't allow himself a moment to breath. Instead, he ran across the room and threw open the door. The cloak was nowhere in sight. He raced down the hallway, back towards the ballroom.

He was surprised to find the masquerade still continuing, as if he assumed they'd stop to search for the killer. Scanning the room, he caught sight of the rooster mask. He ran past the butler from before, the man in the pig mask now gone. Will grabbed Jack's shoulder. He looked up happily, then his expression washed away into one of concern.

"Jack, the Ripper, he's here," Will said in between breaths.

"How do you know?" Jack asked, pulling his mask up.

"He found me. Tossed me off a balcony."

"He tried to kill you?" Jack said. Will shook his head.

"No, I don't think he wanted to kill me. He wanted to reveal himself to me, but I'm not sure why. Perhaps to taunt me," Will said. "But I imagine by now he's fled the party."

"You don't think we'll find him?"

"I think it's worth trying," Will said, already scanning the crowd. Jack, too, looked around expectantly. He started nodding.

"I'll go inform the guards," he said, walking back into the crowd and leaving Will alone.

Once again abandoned, Will started to head back to his familiar pillar and await Jack's return, until the trumpets began to sound. He froze as a squire announced His Majesty's arrival. Will grimaced before trying to sneak away.

"And his Majesty cares to take a moment to acknowledge the guest of honor, Sir William Graham."

Will stopped as the crowd around him transformed into a sea of clapping. He turned and bowed his head respectfully. As he raised it, he looked up to the king and he froze. Horrified understanding dawned on him. His Majesty was walking down the carpeted staircase, his red cape trailing behind him. But Will recognized those smirking lips and sly eyes. Replacing his black cloak with a golden crown wouldn't fool him. He stopped before Will, and raised his staff to silence the crowd.

"Thanks to this man, we can once again safely walk the streets at night." The king said, addressing the crowd. Then he turned to Will. "I'm very pleased to have you in my service Will."

Will tried to conceal his shock and concern. His thoughts raced as he struggled to find a solution to his predicament. But finally, he bowed his head to glare at the floor. He was silent as he rose to face the king again.

"I assure you, the streets will be safe again," Will said, giving his words an edge. A butler offered him a glass of wine for a toast, and he took it. The king took one too.

"To King Hannibal," Will said icily. Hannibal smiled.

"To Will."


	2. A Visit

It was impossible to avoid staring at the colorful red and gold sash of the royal guard that stood out so strongly from the rest of Will's dark tenement. Finally, he crossed the small room and tore the leering sash from the chair it had been lounging on. He threw it into the corner and out of sight. But before he could resume his work, there was a purposeful knock on his door. He knew exactly who it was, and Will knew the exact conversation that was about to unfold before he even opened the door.

"Hello Will," Jack Crawford said while silently assessing Will's condition. Will could easily tell from the displeasure in his voice that his worst fears had been confirmed.

"Jack," Will said, and stepped aside to let Jack in.

"Did you receive my letter?" Jack asked. His eyes scanned Will's small domicile as if it would reveal the inner workings of Will's mind. All he found was scattered clothing, various papers, and a few empty bottles and dirty plates. At least Will was eating now.

"I did." Will answered, watching Jack closely.

"But you didn't reply," Jack said, now looking directly at Will.

"No," Will admitted. "I intended to but after our last conversation, I assumed you wouldn't have agreed with my response."

"Will," Jack said, "this is not healthy. You need to move on from the Ripper."

"You mean Hannibal Lecter?" Will said with a side eye. Jack furrowed his brow.

"King Hannibal is not the Ripper," he said with force that can only be gained after having repeated something to the point of absurdity. Will sat back down at the table and shifted through his papers. Jack stood silently for a moment before locking eyes with a chair, and at its feet sat a crumpled up sash. Even from under the layers of grim, Jack could still make out the iconic royal colors. He sat down across from Will.

"Will, have you considered the possibility that this Ripper fantasy is your way of expressing your anger and frustration about killing Garret Jacob Hobbes? This might just be a subconscious excuse to quit the royal guard because you couldn't handle his death," Jack said.

"I quit the royal guard because I refuse to work for a corrupt and sadistic monarchy," Will said, not taking his eyes off the paper in his hand. He frowned at it with dissatisfaction and began to shuffle through his papers again. "I am handling Hobbes' death fine."

"That is treasonous talk Will and it will get you in trouble. And I don't think you are handling Hobbes' death well," Jack said. "We've got a report last week from your landlord that stated he was afraid someone was being murdered here in the middle of the night."

Jack glanced towards the sweat stained mat Will was using to sleep on.

"I think you should rejoin the guards," Jack said, all formality gone. Will nodded, his suspicions of Jack's reason for visiting him confirmed. "Getting back in the field will give you something more realistic to focus your skills on."

"Jack, the Ripper is going to kill again. And soon," Will said.

"The Ripper has not been active for over a year. For all we know he might be dead. Floating in the Thames somewhere. But people are concerned for you Will. Me, Dr. Zeller and his wife, Price, Countess Bloom-"

"The royal court?" Will asked, looking up at Jack. "They're probably very interested in why the most promising captain would suddenly retire from the royal guard and decide to inhabit the seedy district of London. I bet the king is very interested."

"Yes, there is talk. And people have their speculations, they always do. Especially the court. All they do all day is gossip, but the fact remains that you quitting reflects badly on the royal guards. And we're already in a worse position without you." Jack said.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I really am," Will said, setting his papers down. "But I'm not coming back."

"I'm not giving up on you yet," Jack said, getting up. He gave Will a friendly smile.

"I never expected that you would," Will confessed and returned the smile. Jack swung his coat on and as he opened the door, the smells of sewage and horse manure wafted into the room.

"At least inquire for new residency," Jack said, "as a personal favor."

Will nodded and Jack turned to leave. Before he could leave though, Will called out to him

"Jack, the Ripper is going to kill again. Just be on the lookout, okay?" Will asked. Jack paused to absorb the raw emotion in Will's words, before nodding. Will nodded back and slowly closed and locked his door.

After months of digging his way into and through London's seedy underbelly, Will had made little progress in finding a lead or connection between the Ripper murders. Picking up the mannerisms of London's dock district had been easy enough, and Will certainly smelled enough to fit in, but it seemed that all traces of the Ripper had been washed away in the Thames months ago.

Yet Will still found himself donning his old ratty overcoat and tattered top hat to wander the darkened cobblestone streets after midnight. From the edge of the lamplight, the dark fervent with which he followed the prostitutes lurking in the shady corner was not noticed. Night after night, he struggled to imagine himself as, not an knight and ex-captain of the guard, but rather the king himself, masquerading as a beggar, or maybe a lustful drunk in order to lull his prey into a false sense of security before leading them into a dark alley and butchering them.

And each night Will would inevitably find himself thinking back to that fateful ball. Masquerading was right, but butchering wasn't the correct word. No, the Ripper had a morbid grace to his killings. The grace that comes with being king.

Will hoped to use that grace to orchestrate the Ripper's downfall. For, even if Jack hadn't believed him, one can only hide their grace and natural tendencies so far. Will clung to the hope that if he stayed focused, he'd be able to pick out that grace from one of these sleazy drunkards. Unfortunately, either Will had misjudged his abilities, or he had been wrong about the Ripper.

One shadow that slinked around the edge of the halo of light cast by the lamp across the street caught Will's eye. The undeniable fluidity with which the shadow moved piqued his interest. He stepped back into the shadows himself and slowly matched pace with the silhouette as it weaved its way through the alleys with familiarity.

Will couldn't help but get excited at the prospect of being close to the Ripper once more. Previous mistakes would not be made again. He was being careful this time. He was being observant and kept himself alert. His heartbeat pounded against his chest in tandem with his and the Ripper's footsteps. Together, they hunted the most unwanted sections of London.

But suddenly Will felt the unison shatter. The rhythm was dispelled for there were now only two instruments left to play it, his footsteps and his beating heart. Feeling the Ripper slip away with each passing moment, Will frantically ran forward and scanned the asymmetrical cobblestone square that he'd been led to. Each side street was filled with only empty shadows. Not even any painted faces emerged from the darkness to greet him at the corner.

Turning back home, Will felt the moonlight on his back, mocking him. He pushed away any thoughts of doubt. He couldn't have imagined him. It wasn't just the pull of the moon on his sanity. But as Will stumbled back home, he felt the doubts clinging to him like hungry rats.


	3. A Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of Sassy Science Squad!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone whose left comments, kudos, subscribed or bookmarked. I really appreciate the interest and hope you guys are enjoying. Happy 4th of July weekend!

The thundering of knocks on his door stabbed Will's temples and dragged him out of the fog of his afternoon sleep. He ran his hands through his unruly hair, kicked the royal guards sash back into its corner, and opened the door.

The rays of light stung his eyes and created a stab of pain in the bridge of his nose. Before they could adjust, a body shoved past him into his house.

"Jack," Will greeted, only slightly bothered by his forceful intrusion and barely embarrassed by his own state of undress. The urgency with which Jack brushed past Will shook away the last vestiges of rest.

"Jack, what's happened?" Will asked, praying his suspicions weren't correct.

"You were right," Jack said solemnly turning to face Will. "The Ripper has killed again."

Will closed his eyes and leaned against the table as he shifted through his memories of the previous night. He struggled to remember which ladies of the night stood watch at which corners, which beggars slept in which gutter, and which of them was out of place. Then he tried to piece it together with his surreal encounter with the Ripper.

Yet he found his mind uncharacteristically distracted and unwilling to cooperate. He forced himself to walk through the hazy London streets in the Ripper's shoes and cloak which concealed his finely tailored waistcoat, but Will could only see himself, stumbling and losing the Ripper in the maze of shambled houses. He felt weighed down as if he'd swallowed a stone. Will wanted to believe it was guilt about failing to save a life, especially when he was so close. In truth, that was partly it, but if Will forced himself to look a layer deeper he could see that what he felt was relief. Guilty about feeling relieved that he was not insane. Relief that he had been right.

But that didn't matter at the moment, because right now he had a lead and he knew where to follow it to.

Will opened his eyes to find Jack holding out his jacket as if it were an offering. Without a moment's hesitation, he took the jacket and they headed out into the streets.

Will stared out the carriage window at the taverns passing by. Overnight they had undergone a transformation from the places where the dim light veiled the source of the boisterous laughter and scents of liquor and sweat, into uncomfortably empty tombs in the morning light. Through the window, Will could barely recognize the roads he'd spent hours fruitlessly wandering. But as the carriage shook from a hole in the road, Will noticed the square from the night before and knew they must be near.

Several moments later, Jack broke the stony silence by announcing their arrival. The men stationed at the crime scene stood at attention when Jack stepped out from the carriage, the royal sigil shining on his chest in the bright light. Will emerged behind him, his eyes adjusting to take in the scene. Jack strode forward towards his second in command and ordered him to take the men and guard the quarantined zone, leaving only Will, Jack, and the body.

With his new privacy, Will took a deep breath that energized his sense and he began to imagine a clock. Slowly, the golden weight of the clock swung back and forth, glowing against the black background of Will's imagination. With each swing, a piece of the district square fell away to reveal how it was the previous night. First swing, Jack and the carriage faded away. Second swing, the sunrise melted into a dark sky illuminated by the same moon that had shone on Will last night. Third swing, Will saw himself standing in front of his kill seconds after her life has seeped away.

The prostitute hung limp from the spikes that had been strategically pierced through her soft flesh. The spikes were planted firmly in the ground and arranged in such a manner as to present the woman to the city, as if she were a new decree being announced to the denizens.

Will delicately covered her dried lips covered with fine red lipstick. Then he lightly blotted her cheeks with a hint of blush, and even gifted her a small black beauty mark on the side of her nose. The pale canvas of her face now better fit the silk gown which had replaced the faded rags that she'd been wearing. Will took a step back to admire his handiwork and felt a small stab of disappointment that no one else would have the pleasure of viewing his artwork in the elegance of the moonlight. The newsboys probably wouldn't even yell of the Ripper's return until evening.

"Did he do this to honor her? Make her into a queen?" Jack asked, causing the midnight to crack and break away. The red splotches on the prostitute's gown had grown considerably larger from Will's meditation, and he found himself once again in his own mind and current time.

"No, no, she is far below the privilege of the Ripper's honor," Will said, involuntarily adding emphasis to privilege.

"So he was mocking her then?" Jack asked, gazing at the rotting corpse.

"Not quite. The Ripper didn't mean to mock her, it was more of an unintended consequence," Will explained. "The Ripper's real target for mockery was the aristocracy."

"Ah," Jack said with sudden understanding. "Saying the aristocracy are just painted ladies? No better than prostitutes."

Will nodded and added, "This points to the Ripper being a member of high society, if he has such a personal distaste for them."

"A member of high society, or the highest member of society?" Jack asked disapprovingly. Will shook his doubt away.

"Have the morticians arrived yet?" Will asked, not answering Jack's question.

"Not yet," Jack said.

"Good," Will said, turning away from the woman and heading back to the carriage. "Take the body down and bring it to them. This woman shouldn't have to be paraded around in the square like a public execution."

"Does this mean you're rejoining the royal guard?" Jack asked, close at Will's side as he stepped into the carriage.

"No," Will said. "But it means I'm willing to consult on the case."

It had been several weeks since Will had last stepped foot in London's middle class district, and it felt backwards to be here with the sun shining bright overhead and not sulking in the dank gutters. He stared expectantly at the grained wooden door of Dr. Zeller's home and office, but realized that he hadn't yet knocked. Will curled his hands around the cool metal, and felt a shiver run up his shine. He banged it against the soft wood, once, twice, three times. He adjusted the coat he was wearing, which was the most expensive coat he owned. It had grown slightly stiff and some of its color had leaked into his room over the weeks it had spent untouched.

After several seconds, a man with his face scrunched up with wrinkles of annoyance opened the door. Will wasn't at all surprised to find Dr. Price at Zeller's house. A few of the lighter wrinkles fell away as Price recognized his old compatriot, leaving the deeper lines to smile at Will

"Will Graham! You decided to crawl out of the sewer to finally pay us a visit?" Price said, opening the door and warmly welcoming Will into Zeller's house. Will stepped in, unbuttoning his heavy coat to reveal his vest underneath.

"Dragged is a more accurate word," Will said. Price laughed.

"Commander Crawford is a bulldog," Price said. Will nodded with a smile and glanced down the hallway curiously.

"Where are Mr. and Mrs. Zeller?" Will asked.

"Ah, they're still in the back with the body," Price said, leading Will down the hallway, even though Will vividly remembered his way around. Light spilled onto the wool rug from under the door which Price swung open to reveal his coworkers, who hunched over the cadaver as if leaning over to wake Snow White from her poisoned slumber.

"Guess who dropped by to pay us a visit?" Price said. Beverly and Brian looked up, their concentrated faces morphing into light smiles.

"Will! Good to see you," Brian said. Beverly waved with her bloody scalpel.

"I had a feeling you'd drop by after they dragged this one in," she said. "How have you been?"

"Fine, just fine," Will said. His voice dropped in volume when he added, "I hope you've been well yourself."

Beverly nodded knowingly.

"We've been lucky is what we are," she said.

"Let's hope it stays that way," Will said sincerely, glancing at Price and Zeller who know stood close to one another.

"Have you found anything on the body?" Will asked, finally allowing his eyes to scan the body laid out on the table, her skin pulled back from her ribcage like an opened window.

"A few things," Price began. "Firstly, we've identified the lipstick used which contained a rare pigment found only in expensive makeup."

"That agrees with the Ripper as an aristocrat," Will said. The three scientists shared a distressed glance.

"Will," Beverly began, tightening her grip on the scalpel. "You don't still think the Ripper is the king, do you?"

"Did you find anything else?" Will asked. Beverly pursed her lips before putting her scalpel down.

"Yes, there were high levels of alcohol in her blood, along with some other form of depressant that we haven't been able to identify yet."

"We also found very neat stitches along her stomach," Zeller said.

"So logically, we opened them up and examined her insides," Price continued.

"And her liver is missing," Beverly finished. Will eyes slowly rose from the now stiff body painted with blood and makeup, to look at the scientists.

"The skill used for the stitches indicates someone with medical experience, and the depressants imply our killer has knowledge of the black market and administration of drugs. The Ripper did this, but this murder is different from his others. This one was meant to send a message," Will said, his voice trailing off into his thoughts as his mind quickly fit these new pieces into his puzzle but the picture wasn't complete yet.

"Thank you," Will said. "I should go now. But, take care. Really."

As Will turned away from the body and retreated from the laboratory lights, he heard the door close behind him. He stopped when Beverly floated to him and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"How about you stop by for dinner sometime?" She asked. "You've done so much for us and we haven't been able to properly thank you."

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm not a very good dinner guest," Will said, slowly buttoning his coat. "And there's no need to thank me."

"Don't be humble, of course there is. Jimmy and Brian are so happy together, and I get to do my work, and it's because you've kept our secret," Beverly said. Will paused his buttoning.

"That's because you're my friends, and I need my scientists happy to give me the best results," Will said, "and that means all my scientists, woman or not."

Beverly's mouth perked up, then twitched back to a frown as wrinkles appeared around her eyes.

"Did you rejoin the guard?" She asked. Will brushed the light shadow of a beard that was growing along his chin and shook his head. He reached towards the door before answering.

"I'm only consulting," he explained. Beverly's head tilted in anticipation of further explanation. Will pursed his lips. He took a step through the door before stopping to add, unintentionally more forcefully than he had intended, "I'm here to catch the Ripper and I don't need the king's stamp to do that."

Will caught a last glance of Beverly standing solitarily in the hallway, the light from her workshop illuminating her silhouette. He couldn't see the expression on her face as he closed the door and headed down the front steps of the Zeller residence.


	4. A Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will receives a letter.

The light music that flowed from the tavern across the street called to Will, who sat absentmindedly staring at the map of the city laid out on his table. A fog had already settled over the city so he could only see a faint light beyond his window. Will moved the paper to the side as a drip splattered on the table, a reminder of the rain that had passed over earlier.

Luckily the drop hadn't obscured any of the red X's which marked Ripper murders. So far, Will had been unable to dispel the fog which hid the connections between the dots. The map was unwilling to shed light on the possible overlap of the victims, no matter how long Will spent staring at the damp, yellow paper.

He was almost relieved when he heard the knock on his door. Jack must be expecting an update, one that would be disappointingly bare of new information. Will brushed a curl out of his face and opened the door.

His lips paused in the middle of shaping the name Jack, for it was not Jack standing before him. It was a royal messenger. His crimson and gold wardrobe were a shade darker than normal because they had been soaked in the rain. The man's face was as sour as a lemon as he held out a dry letter to Will, who noticed the unmistakable red wax crown seal and immediately recoiled. The messenger's face twisted in annoyance as he pushed the letter closer to Will.

"His royal Majesty requests your presence tomorrow at noon," he said, forcing respect into his irritated voice.

Finally Will clawed for the letter and nearly crushed it. His frown pulled his face downwards towards the letter.

"It comes with a gift," the messenger added, pulling out a parcel wrapped with a scarlet ribbon on top.

"What is the occasion?" Will asked, the tension leaking into his words. He reached for the package.

"As a messenger, I am not honored with those details," he said.

"I thank you, but I'm afraid I must decline his Majesty," Will said. The messenger's eyes widened ever so slightly, just enough that Will wasn't sure if it was shock or anger at the uselessness of his own suffering. Will held the package and letter back to the man. He declined to take them.

"I implore you to reconsider," he said. "At least keep the letter and package."

"Very well," Will said. "Thank you."

Will tossed the package onto his table, and slouched into a chair. The letter sat heavy in his hands as if filled with rocks instead of only paper and ink. His fingers ran over the smooth wax seal as if memorizing its layout, letting it brand itself into his mind, leaving a fiery blister on his forehead. Will's hand slipped into his chest pocket and withdrew the knife he kept there. He lightly slithered it beneath the paper and the letter popped open willingly, the seal remaining whole.

His hand unraveled the letter within, expecting a formal address. Instead, his own name written in precise, flowing script waved up at him from the top of the page. King Hannibal's voice began to recite his words, which danced around Will's mind.

Dear William Graham,

When I heard of your early retirement from my force, a great sense of sadness and guilt filled me. I could not help but feel your leaving was a fault of my own. You have a gift and are an immense value to my royal guards, and I would never forgive myself if I did not implore you to reconsider. Even more so, my subjects would never forgive me for not doing everything in my power to protect them from the inevitable danger at hand.

As we two are all too aware, this danger has returned to haunt our innocent city and it's unexpecting citizens. Is it not the royal guard's duty to hunt down all threats, treasons, and corruptions and expel them from the streets?

Even though the royal sigil may not grace your chest, I still consider you a close friend. And as such a friend, I hope you would forgive any previous offense that may have been made, and accept my invitation for tomorrow. I pray you will allow me to prove my contrition and perhaps change your mind,

Sincerely,

His Royal Majesty King Hannibal of House Stuart

P.S. It has occurred to me that you may feel your wardrobe inappropriate for a visitation to the palace. I fear offending you further, or offering you an excuse to elude my invitation. Furthermore, I wished to remain true to my word of penitence, hence I've taken advantage of my vast resources to send this gift to you. It is the latest; imported from France. I have faith that it will fit.

Hannibal's words rung in Will's ears. Will decided against crumbling it into a ball and tossing it out the window where it would disintegrate in some dirty street puddle, which he knew was the only way to truly silence its impact. Instead he placed it on the table and traced his hands over the package. The brown paper made soft crinkling sounds beneath his fingertips, which threatened to unleash itself if he did not open the package himself soon. He untied the ribbon and tossed it onto the table, where it spread as if it were spilled red wine.

Will dug his hands into the paper and ripped it open to reveal its insides, its heart beating wildly. The blue of the fabric inside threatened to overflow into his small room and drown him. Yet it was soft as a kitten when he ran his hands over it. He carefully pulled it out from the package and unwillingly admired the craftsmanship of the golden thread that decorated it like stars in the night sky, or the lamps that cut through the thick fog outside.

Yet even in all its elegance, the gift mocked Will like a last meal, for both himself and Hannibal knew that he had been blocked into a corner. He chastised himself for running blindly through the maze without noticing Hannibal closing off the exits. Will knew he could not refuse the invitation, but he also knew that there was always a way out of the maze and sometimes all it took was retracing one's steps.


	5. A Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will visits the palace to meet with ~King~ Hannibal.

The warm air that drifted from the royal greenhouse wrapped Will in the scent of flowers and citrus. The same page that had arrived at Will's address earlier and drove him to the palace in the lavish carriage that made heads turn on the streets, now held the glass door sprayed with condensation open for Will.

He nodded his head in thanks, and then stepped through. The sunlight pierced through the glass walls and created the illusion that the plants were emitting an ethereal glow. Two swords flashed in the light as two men fenced, one adorned in red, the other green. They hopped back and forth with quick fluid motions, as if they were performing the steps of this choreographed dance for the patiently watching audience before them. A dance was really the only way to describe it, for its elegance was as entrancing as watching a ballet. Just like a ballet, this dance also told a story, a story of two opponents locked in a battle of subtlety. Neither could reveal any weakness without the other picking up on it and taking victory.

As the man in green pushed the man in red further across the mat, Will noticed the members of the royal court shift in their seats. The ladies pushed loose strings of hair that had popped out of their tight curls because of the humidity back into place. The men dabbed beads of sweat away from their foreheads. Will was no expert in this style of swordplay, for his training had been more focused upon course yet practical attacks and defenses, and less for showmanship. However, he still recognized how the green fencer's footing was too forward, too eager for victory over his opponent.

Apparently none of the other onlookers noticed this, for they straightened up in their seats when the red fencer, having urged the green fencer into a closer position, dodged his attack and firmly planted a jab on his chest. The man's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword for an instant as he and the court drew in their breath. Before Will's eyes, he saw the fencers transform into himself and Garrett Jacob Hobbs. A shiver ran down his spine as he once again felt his sword pierce Hobbs' chest, saw the crimson stain spread across his shirt and dot his own face with blood. The tension of his vision was expelled when the court initiated a soft clapping of congratulations, yet the unease remained.

The green fencer pulled off his mask, his face etched into a neutral expression. Suddenly a connection sparked in Will's mind as he realized there was a face missing in the crowd. He silently railed himself for not seeing it earlier. He forced himself to keep his face calm, and hoped he was more successful than the green fencer was at it, as the red fencer took his mask off.

"Good match, Tobias," Hannibal said, tucking his mask neatly under his arm.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Tobias said, bowing deeply.

"You've improved greatly since last time, but your stance still needs work." Hannibal said, bowing his head to Tobias.

"Perhaps one of these days I will finally win against you," Tobias said, his veil of friendly banter near translucent.

"Perhaps," Hannibal said with a smile. Tobias returned it with his lips twisted slightly upwards.

This exchanged marked the end of the match, and the court sprung to life, now free to socialize amongst each other. Will watched from the outside as they mingled and added to the chirping of the birds nesting in the indoor trees. One lord broke away to join the two fencers, who were being attended to by pages. Will couldn't help but feel slightly amused when he noticed a spark of annoyance in Hannibal's eyes.

"Congratulations, King Hannibal, Baron Tobias," he said. Both fencers looked down coolly at him.

"Thank you, Lord Franklyn." Hannibal said, adhering to social politeness.

Will's attention shifted away from the one-sided conversation when he noticed Countess Bloom in the crowd. In her violet and green dress, she had almost blended into the scenery. Will considered approaching her, however all thoughts of this action disappeared when a man appeared beside him, a Baron or Earl of some sort.

"Sir William Graham?" He asked, the only socialite to even acknowledge Will so far, let alone recognize him.

"Yes," Will said, watching the man out of the corner of his eye toy with his cane.

"Mm. I thought so," the man said, he held out his hand gingerly. "Pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I am Marquess Frederick Chilton, founder of the London Academy of Medicine and Sciences, as you no doubt are aware of."

Will's eyebrows involuntarily twitched with recognition of the man, whom he had heard various rumors of from the many scientists he had worked with over the years, chiefly that the man had not been capable enough to contribute to science himself so had instead turned to establishing and financing others and subsequently claiming their work as his own. Will took his hand and wondered what business the Marquess could possibly have with lowly him.

"We, myself and the court, have heard many rumors of your talents, and I must say they sound simply fantastical," he said and paused for Will's response.

"You're too kind, sir," Will said, not taking the energy to add enthusiasm.

"Yes, and as a man of science, it is my moral obligation to investigate all phenomenal circumstances such as yourself," Chilton explained. Will's frown deepened, fully aware of the direction the conversation was headed. He remained silent, but his eyes involuntarily flinched in Hannibal's direction. Apparently satisfied that Will had nothing to say, Chilton continued, "I had hoped to contact you several months ago at the Masquerade held in your honor, but you fled the party before I had the chance. And I was devastated to hear that you had quit His Majesty's forces. I attempted to track you down, but I fear you are rather good at disappearing."

"I apologize for any inconvenience," Will said. Chilton chuckled, missing his intended aloofness.

"It's quite alright, my good sir, for it appears that we've been given an opportune chance to discuss-" Chilton said, preparing to launch into another long winded speech. Will's patience cracked and he interrupted to say, "Actually, I was summoned for a private meeting with the king."

Chilton's mouth remained open mid-sentence before he slowly closed it. Will watched as he tilted his head to gaze in the direction of the king, who was still locked conversation with the Baron and Lord.

"The king invited you to a private meeting?" he asked, unable to hide his shock and slight offense. "That's a little unorthodox, wouldn't you say?"

"Perhaps," Will said, raising his eyebrows. He turned to stare at Chilton when he added, "but who are we to judge his royal decisions?"

Chilton's eyes skimmed the floor before looking up again. He raised his chin slightly and fidgeted with his cane. Then he returned Will's gaze.

"Quite right, sir, however I am sure I am not the only member of court who would admit this is, at the very least, unexpected," he finished with a flourish of his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Will noticed a few gazes in their direction from the court.

"It is as unexpected for me, as it is for the court," Will said. Chilton raised his eyebrow and widened his eyes.

"You mean to tell me that you have not the slightest idea why His Majesty called for you?"

"Not the slightest."

"Well," Marquess Chilton said with a roll of his eyes, "this certainly is strange."

"Indeed," Will said, sensing Hannibal had almost escaped the conversation. "If you'll excuse me…"

"Before you go," the Marquess said, holding up his cane. "Perhaps you'd care to continue our conversation another time? The doors of my Conservatory will always be open for you."

"I appreciate the offer," Will said, and bowed his head respectfully. When he raised his head again, Hannibal had finished putting away his fencing gear and was walking in their direction.

His fencing armor had been replaced with a cream-colored silk waistcoat, and a velvet cape was draped over his shoulder. The fencing needle at his side had been replaced with a sharpened sword, its hilt adorned with rubies. On his head rested his ruby-encrusted golden crown. From its many gems, Will would have guessed it weighed enough to crush a small animal, however Hannibal carried it with grace as if it were a stack of feathers lightly balancing on his head.

"Your Grace," Marquess Chilton said, bowing deeply and crossing his cane across his chest. Will followed suit, glaring at his own brown shoes which appeared even plainer next to Chilton's decorated heels and clean white stockings.

"Marquess," Hannibal greeted with a head bow. "Sir William Graham, thank you for accepting my invitation."

"Thank you for the invitation," Will answered, raising his head and then tilting it up to match eye contact with the slightly taller man.

"I hope you didn't mind watching the end of our fencing competition," Hannibal said, revealing a small smile when Will returned his eye contact.

"It was a superb match, Your Majesty," Marquess Chilton fawned, taking a step forward to rejoin the circle the two men had accidentally excluded him from. Hannibal bowed his head gratefully. Chilton smiled, more for himself than either of them.

"Thank you, Marquess Chilton," he said. "Perhaps one of these days you would care to strike swords with?"

The Marquess's smile faded, only to be replaced with feigned laughter.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I will pass on that offer to join you in the ring" Chilton said. Hannibal looked down at him, then glanced to the rest of the court. He took a step away from Will, and the room fell deathly silent when he raised his hands.

"Thank you all for coming, but I now have private business I must attend to. I hope you will not mind if my servants lead you out," Hannibal said, his servants opening the greenhouse doors for the aristocracy. There were murmurs of thanks and respect as the parade of satin dresses dusting the floor and ivory canes taping the tiles. Marquess Chilton bowed one final time to the king, then turned to Will and added before leaving, "Don't forget about my invitation."

Will nodded his head as the Marquess joined the others in leaving. He watched as the servants stepped outside and closed the doors behind them. The handles twitched as they locked. Will clenched his jaw and turned to face his host. His heart seized when he found Hannibal staring intently at him. He skimmed him up and down, making Will feel as if he knew that Will had sold the clothing he gave him to afford the much plainer outfit he wore now. As if he knew that even with its cheaper price, Will still could not have afforded it on his own.

"I hope this venue will do for our conversation?" Hannibal asked, surprising Will by not commenting on his clothing, or further discussing the fencing match.

"I don't think the venue matters much," Will said, then tilted his head. "I was under the impression that you summoned me here for business, not friendly conversation."

Hannibal smiled and motioned with one hand towards the rest of the indoor gardens, and rested the other on his sword hilt.

"I consider you a friend, and I hope you consider me a friend," Hannibal said, slowly walking towards the gardens. Will had no choice but to follow behind.

"I was not under the impression that friends toss friends off balconies," Will said, not able to disguise all the bitterness in his voice. Hannibal calmly watched the assortment of purple hibiscus they passed.

"I was worried you would still be angry with me about that," he said. Then he tilted his head, his crown somehow remaining in place. "Did you receive my gift?"

"Yes," Will said, unable to control himself from answering truthfully. "It was too flashy for my taste."

"Is that because you fear standing out from the crowd?" Hannibal asked. Will hitched one eyebrow up.

"Suspicion is a better word than fear. I'm suspicious of what standing out will bring," Will said.

"That is understandable, but not everything it brings is bad. Attention can be beneficial, if used correctly," Hannibal said. Will didn't answer, just picked out the individual flowers from the garden awash with a mix of colors to create an artificial rainbow. "My tailor will be disappointed to hear it though, especially after he worked so tediously to shape that outfit to your exact measurements."

"My own tailor will surely have a fit when he learns that the king is now filling my wardrobe," Will said.

"That is one of the benefits of being king, no one can disagree with you," Hannibal said.

"Everyone is too afraid to," Will said. "And perhaps there's good reason, even if they don't know you like I do."

Hannibal paused to lean over a rose that was a slightly lighter shade of red than his blood colored cape. He gingerly pinched his fingers around its stem, carefully avoiding its thorns, and pulled it from the bush.

"Is that why you have been unable to sleep at night?" he asked, sniffing the rose. "Or is it because you are haunted by the ghost of Garrett Jacob Hobbs?"

Will turned away from Hannibal and his taunting rose, and brushed his hand over the bright yellow roses that grew opposite the red ones.

"I've seen behind your veil of humanity and I am not scared." he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Hannibal perked up at Will's words, and moved towards the other side of the walkway. He gently kept the rose in his hand.

"That was our bargain. I fulfilled my end of our agreement: I removed my mask," Hannibal said. He turned his head to gaze at Will again. "Yet you have not upheld your end of the deal."

"Our deal?" Will asked, memories of the masquerade ball still seared into his mind. "If I remember correctly, I did take off my mask. And you threw it into the courtyard three stories below."

"There are different kinds of masks," Hannibal said, stepping away. Will frowned at the yellow roses, then followed Hannibal down the garden path. Their feet were silent on the stone tile. The only noise came from singing birds in a different corner of the greenhouse.

"Do you garden, Will?" he asked, his words uncomfortably casual.

"It is rather hard to garden in the city without considerable resources," Will explained, not realizing his feet had fallen into rhythm with Hannibal's.

"Gardening is an art, and like any art, it does require considerable resources," Hannibal said. "To be truly successful, one must know how to use those resources most efficiently. Only in this way will your garden thrive."

Will's eyebrows knotted in confusion as he tried to understand why Hannibal was explaining this. He allowed Hannibal to continue speaking.

"I am starting a new program for the city of London," he said. "It is a campaign to beautify our fair city by establishing public parks for all the districts."

An image of thriving rose bushes, daffodils, and calla lilies blooming in the middle of gray London as a single colorful oasis from the brutal streets grew in Will's mind. The dirty orphans chased each other happily, as the stray dogs that he often fed pounced after sticks thrown by drunks.

"What do you think?" Hannibal asked, holding his rose close to his nose. Will raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I think it could be good for the citizens to have some form of escape from the pains of daily life," he said, picturing a pair of women chatting down one of the lanes lined with calla lilies. As they passed by, a man stepped out from behind a large oak tree to watch them. He stepped onto the path and followed them down it as the London fog quickly descended over the park. The same teeth that had dug into the flesh of seven brunette girls smiled at Will as Garrett Jacob Hobbs disappeared into the fog.

"But they would be difficult to regulate," Will explained. "Crime from the outside would seep in and rot whatever happiness could be found there. Especially with the recent resurgence of the Ripper."

Hannibal raised his eyebrow in amusement, and Will's mouth twitched upwards, but he quickly dragged it down to its neutral position. The resistance was useless though because Hannibal had seen it. He took a deep whiff of the rose's scent before continuing to walk. They headed towards the exotic foliage section. Will's own words remained in his mind, digging the true purpose of this meeting out from the fragrant flowers and humid thought-slowing air.

"In order for your garden to thrive, you'd have to use all your resources effectively," Will said, narrowly eyeing the azaleas they passed. "Even your more reluctant resources."

"I do not want to force you to do this, Will," Hannibal said. "But you are currently fighting an impossible fight, in more ways than you know. You want to save this city, but there are more practical ways to accomplish that."

"More practical but at the cost of morality," Will countered.

"Is it more moral to expose an unbelievable truth or build a comforting lie?" Hannibal asked. Will didn't not answer his question.

Having arrived at his intended destination, Hannibal let the question bite at Will, who eyed the large round fountain sitting before them. The crisp clear water was cleaner than any Will had seen before, and he found it hard to believe it was water at all. The fountain sprouted up a tall column of water that descended to the Earth in a symmetrical cascade and filled the center of the greenhouse with its soothing music. Meanwhile, Hannibal sat down on the nearby bench, adjusting his sword as he sat and crossed his legs. Although Hannibal had left a large enough slab for Will to join him, Will remained standing.

Deciding that his question had had its intended effect Hannibal continued, "And who is it that decides morality? The ruler, me? My followers, the aristocracy, the church, or God? Which of us truly has that authority?"

"I fear that no matter where the authority lies, the answer will remain the same," Will said, resting his hands on the cool stone of the elevated garden, only a foot or two away from Hannibal. "So you want me to don my royal guard sword again?"

"No," Hannibal said, twirling the rose in his hand as if he were dancing with it in the ballroom. "I said I wanted to use my resources effectively, and to reinstate you as a mere royal guard would be a waste. I wish to promote you."

"A promotion for me would cost Commander Crawford his job," Will pointed out.

"Commander Crawford has only ever served me well, and I have no intention of dismissing him yet," Hannibal said. "I want you to be my personal guard."

"That would require some degree of intimacy," Will said, using his question to disguise his shock. He brushed a fallen curl out of his face. The rose stopped twirling.

"A degree of intimacy that we already have, whether or not you acknowledge it," Hannibal said.

"And what of when others acknowledge our strange…intimacy?" Will asked, twisting his head to once again look at Hannibal.

"You mean my court?" Hannibal asked. "As a monarch, I've set a precedent of strong ruling. Excess has made them harmless, only capable of harming those below themselves."

"You forget that I am below them," Will said.

"We have nothing to fear from them," Hannibal said.

The silence was filled by the noise of rushing water. Will gazed up past the tower of crystal blue to look at the beams of light shining down on his face from the glass ceiling. He took a deep breath, absorbing the earthly scents of the shiny leaves. His mind raced, examining the different options opened to him. Even in the expansive organized jungle of the greenhouse, the humid air made his hair stick to his head and filled his lungs with claustrophobia. There was only one answer but his tongue was too numb to bring the words into existence. He stepped away from the bench and gazed around, but had somehow become disoriented around the fountain and couldn't locate the path they had come from.

"I suppose I'll need a new wardrobe," Will said, glancing down at his new outfit that was still too plain and cheap for the position. "And I'll have to polish off my sword and sash."

"Not to worry," Hannibal said, standing up to dust sprinkles of dirt from his pristine shirt. "I will take care of all of that. It will be waiting for you in your new quarters."

"I've arranged for chambers to be drawn up for you, directly next to my own," Hannibal said after seeing the twitch of confusion on Will's face. "It is necessary for the king's personal escort to be close at all times."

"We wouldn't want any attempts on your life," Will said, a smile leaking onto his face. He followed Hannibal down one of the paths.

"I cannot guarantee your position, should that successfully occur," Hannibal said. As they rounded a bush, the glass doors of the greenhouse came back into view. Will couldn't understand how that made sense with the layout of the greenhouse, but decided he would ask to see a map of the castle later.

"I will have a carriage pick you up tomorrow morning," Hannibal said.

"Tomorrow morning then," Will said, with a bow of his head.

"Will," Hannibal said, also bowing but in such a way as to keep his crown on his head.

Two servants opened the doors as Will stepped through. The cool air of the hallway invigorated him, and cleared his head. He nervously ran his hand through his hair and followed a servant out.


	6. A Welcoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will arrives at the palace and is welcomed by its residents.

The stairs that were fat with years of moisture creaked as Will descended them for the last time, carrying his few belongings. The carriage waited patiently outside, and a servant held open the door for Will. He paused to look down the muck-filled streets, and hoped to catch one final glimpse of his favorite stray dog. But no animals poked their heads out from around the corner. With a regretful sigh, he nodded a thanks to the servant and stepped into the carriage.

Will kept his head down and refused to look out the window from the moment the door closed behind him to the minute they arrived at the palace gates. His resolve broke down as the carriage paused for the gates to open up. Outside the dusty window, Will could see the palace rising up out of the London fog. The iron gates seemed too menacing to allow them in, yet they opened with ease. The palace itself appeared more like a wedding cake, topped with intricate piping and white columns raising it to the heavens, not like a place where one ate, slept, and lived.

The palace guards remained cold and emotionless as the carriage jolted forward into the palace courtyard, allowing the gates to close behind them, once again safely separating the palace from the grim of the rest of London.

Will anticipated the sight of Hannibal, dressed warmly in a long cloak trimmed with fur and his crown glinting in the morning sun, waiting for him and surrounded by palace guards on the palace steps. Yet when he exited the carriage, the stairs were inhabited only by unfamiliar faces. Will's stomach turned unexpectedly sour as a butler bowed and came forward to take Will's bag. Will's now empty hand rested on the royal sword hanging at his hip.

"The king regrets to inform you that he has unexpected business to attend to," the butler said. Will's face remained sullen. "But he commanded me to show you to your quarters and give you a tour of the palace."

"Did His Majesty specify how long this business will take?" Will asked, gazing up at the enigmatic windows.

"No, m'Lord," the butler said. Will thanked him, and then followed him into the stomach of the palace.

The excessive rooms of the palace blended into each other to form one long maze of plastered walls, marble floors, and kings and queens glaring down with sour faces. It wasn't until they arrived at the ballroom that Will became attentive. Without the billowing ball gowns and explosions of flower bouquets, the room felt transformed into a mausoleum. The absence of the orchestra left it silent as the grave. The marble shone where Will had first conversed with the stag mask, months ago. He wondered when the ballroom would be rejuvenated and once again be filled with life.

As they moved on, Will eyed the hallway and pushed the portraits from his memory. He turned to gaze in the direction of that fateful room, which the butler led him towards. Will's stomach recoiled at the recognition of the door.

"These are the king's chambers," the butler said, then continued to the next door, which he opened with a quick twist of his hand. "These are yours. I've been instructed to let you make yourself at home."

Will stood in the doorway for a moment, absorbing the room. It was decorated identically to Hannibal's, only everything had been reversed, as if the architect had recreated it through a mirror. The balcony at the end taunted him with its open doors, the wind blowing the curtains softly. Will noticed his bag had been placed at the edge of the bed.

He took a step into the room, and wandered to the wardrobe. Its doors opened smoothly, and Will wasn't surprised to find it filled with a palate of new clothes. He eyed it for a moment, his eyebrow raising amusedly. He closed it with a satisfied click and returned to the butler.

"Are you done, sir?" he asked. Will nodded.

"I think it will take a while to feel at home here," Will said softly. The butler nodded his head and closed the door behind him.

"Very good, sir," he said. "Shall we continue?"

"Lead the way," Will said, brushing his hair back.

"His Majesty wishes for you to have a thorough understanding of palace life, and so the head mistress of palace affairs has offered to inform you," the butler explained, leading Will towards the servants' quarters. He bowed and asked Will to wait for a moment. The butler knocked on a door and, after a muffled replied, poked his head in. He then took a step back and opened the door all the way.

Through the door stepped an unexpectedly vivacious woman, her red curly hair unrestrained by her maids' cap. Her mouth rose into a smile as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"Sir William Graham?" She asked, extending her hand. Will took it, and she shook his hand with a tight grip.

"Madame Fredricka Lounds," she said. "Head mistress of the palace. You can just refer to me as 'Freddie'."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame Freddie," Will said. "Most people call me Will."

"Pleasure's all mine," she said. "I oversee everything within the palace to keep the king's day running smoothly. Let's start with the kitchen."

She turned and walked down the servants' corridor, taking long strides. Will followed closely behind, observing her knowing smile with a sense of caution.

"So, Will, how do you like the palace so far?" she asked.

"It's very impressive," he said, finding an appropriate word to describe its atmosphere. Freddie laughed.

"It's intimidating, especially for commoners such as ourselves," she said, giving Will a sideways glance. "It's not often that people of our status gain entry, not unless we have certain useful talents."

Her stride continued forward, unnerved by the monotony of the plain hallway, but she paused suddenly at a door. Her smile disappeared and she scanned Will's face, searching for some tell in his expression.

"What's your talent?" She asked. Will returned her own gaze with one of equal intensity, narrowing in on her true intentions.

"I was about to ask you the same question," Will said, keeping his gaze steady while looking down at her. Her mouth twitched with amusement and her head tilted to gain a new perspective of him.

"If you really must know," she said, her curls bouncing lightly. "I have a talent of being resourceful. And not just to the king. Being in charge of running the palace has certain benefits, especially when one knows how to use them."

She peered up at him, letting a little sting into her words.

"There's not much that goes on in this place that I'm not aware of," she said. "Secrets are the currency here, Will. So now you know one of mine, it's only fair that I know one of yours. What's your talent?"

"I also have a talent of being resourceful, only in more unconventional way," Will said. Freddie narrowed her eyes.

"What ways could be more unconventional than mine?" She asked. The joke, intended to ease Will into speaking, only set him more on edge.

"If you're as resourceful as you say you are, I'm sure you'll find out eventually," Will said. Her smile faded into a look of feigned concern for him.

"You don't have to tell me," she said. "But I think you should know that in my sources, sometimes facts and rumors blend into one, and it becomes impossible to discern the truth from the lies."

She kept her gaze, a faint smile hinting at her mouth and eyes. Will's anger was barely visible in his eyes.

"Shall we see the kitchen?" She asked, and continued walking down the hallway.

From within the depths of the castle, Will hadn't witnessed the sun's morning journey and was surprised to discover how high it had risen when he was finally allowed to return to his chambers for a moment of privacy. His feet were tired from the morning of walking, yet he felt out of place resting on his own bed.

Suddenly, he heard muffled voices from the adjacent room. While he couldn't make out the words, it was clear it was some discussion between two men. It could be assumed one of them must be His Royal Majesty. Was this the business he was attending to? And who did the second voice belong to?

Will leaned his head against the wall as the voices died down, nearing the end of their conversation. Then came a moment of silence, which concerned Will, until he heard the soft creak of the door opening. He silently drifted to his own door, and listened to footsteps retreating down the hallway. With one hand on the door to minimize noise, Will slowly turned the knob with the other and peered down the hallway.

He caught a glimpse of an unknown man, brown hair, average height, eyes with an animalistic intelligence, carrying a worn leather bag at his side, both hands clawing it close to his chest. Will scrambled for important details until he disappeared at the corner.

Shutting the door, Will conjured his imagination and tried to divulge what the contents of the bag could have been, but he lacked enough context and the possibilities were endless. Yet, even if he couldn't guess what was in the bag, he knew beyond a doubt who had given it to the strange man.

He paused as he heard the soft creak of Hannibal moving next door. Will lost the sounds of his steps to the vast empty silence of the room, but regained his position when he heard a knock on what he had thought was the wall. When he was sure he hadn't imagined the knock, he stirred himself and moved to the wall, and was surprised to find a door he hadn't noticed before. It's craftsmen had clearly designed it with the intention of disguise, and it was too easy to skip your eyes over.

Will opened it to find Hannibal standing before him, his room reflecting Will's, as if Will was staring into a mirror. Except instead of his own eyes, Hannibal was staring back at him.

"Will," he said, "I apologize for not being able to join you this morning, but-"

"You had business to attend to?" Will asked, noticing Hannibal's composure had become more relaxed from the careful footstep he'd heard before, and took advantage of it by keeping his tone light. It seemed to work for Hannibal replied with a smile and a nod of his head.

Will took a step back, and held the door open for Hannibal. He stepped through and inspected Will's room as if it was some new piece of artwork he'd never seen before, not simply a reflection of his own. Then he spied the chair that matched his own, sitting in the opposite corner, and sat down. He crossed his legs and relaxed into it.

"You met Freddie?" he asked. Will nodded.

"She runs a very efficient system, it seems," he said.

"Yes, she is very gifted at what she does," Hannibal said. Will puffed a small billow of air from his mouth and hovered around the chair that faced Hannibal's.

"From the looks of the kitchen, it appeared they're preparing for some festival," Will said.

"I was hoping it would be a surprise, but I had planned to have a celebratory banquet to welcome you to the palace," Hannibal said. "I should have expected you to discover me."

"That is really not necessary," Will said. "I'm a guard, not a long-lost prince returning from the ends of the world."

"There are few things in this life worth celebrating, and when they come along we must take advantage," Hannibal said.

"Very well, do what you must," Will said, resigning himself to sit down. "May I ask why I was given these chambers?"

"The king's personal guard should be near him at all times, don't you think?" Hannibal asked. "The most probable assassination time is at night, so it follows suit that you should be close by nocturnally as well."

The answer proved infallible to Will, for he didn't dispute it, however he did ask, "Wouldn't it be wise for me to be present at business meetings?"

"Of course, that is only practical," Hannibal said, making Will rethink his next comment.

"It makes me wonder who's watching who," he said, which elicited an amused grin from Hannibal.

"The first thing you will learn about court, William, is that everyone is watching you," he said. Will contemplated his words and then rose from the chair.

"In that case, I must appear presentable," he turned his back on Hannibal to open the hidden door for him. "If you'll excuse me."

Hannibal kept his smile, however, his shoulders pressed slightly closer to each other and the squint in his eyes distorted into a more irritated look. The change was barely noticeable as Hannibal headed back to his own room.

"May I suggest the mulberry suit?" Hannibal asked, and Will followed his eyes to the wardrobe.

"I will take that into consideration," he said and closed the door.

After not so careful deliberation, Will chose the wine-colored suit and shed his clothes. They lay on the bed, last vestiges of his life. He imagined they'd be very quickly disposed of, possibly incinerated if that was an option. Donning the coat and buttoning up the breeches, he found that they fit comfortably, although perhaps more snug than he was used to, but that was the style.

Only the cravat was left, awaiting him patiently on the bed. He turned away from it to inspect his appearance in the mirror, and decided that he looked dressed for the occasion. But there was still an emptiness missing at his side, and he remembered his sword. As he hooked it around his hip, the thought occurred to him that he wasn't technically a royal guard anymore and that his sword was now probably too cheap for the venue. He fastened it anyway.

Will knocked on the hidden door and waited. As he did, he wondered if Hannibal dressed himself or if he had a squadron of servants to do that for him. His question was answered when Hannibal opened the door to reveal his empty room. He scanned Will's outfit and although he was disappointed Will had not taken his suggestion, he was satisfied that he hadn't completely refused his gifts this time. Will didn't realize himself also looking Hannibal up and down, to examine his finely patterned purple silk vest with darker swirls of indigo tracing vines across it.

"You look refined," Hannibal said, "yet you've forgotten you're cravat."

"Not forgotten," Will corrected, keeping his face towards Hannibal and away from the bed, "Consciously abandoned."

"The cravat is necessary, it ties the entire design of the suit together," Hannibal said, entering his room and walking to the bed. He picked the forlorn accessory up and handed it to Will. He gazed down at it with his jaw tightly clenched. He reached out his hand and crushed the cravat in it, then brought it to his neck. He turned away to tie it, wincing as his hands fumbled with the frilly fabric.

A spark ran down from his hands to his arms and spread through the rest of his body, starting at the spot where cold hands tapped his own. He drew his own hands away as Hannibal's took the cravat and began to tie it.

"I apologize," he said, hushed because he was so close to Will's ear. "That was rather thoughtless."

"There's no way you could have known," Will said. When Hannibal's hands moved from his neck to his shoulder, Will turned to face him. Hannibal inspected his handiwork and seemed pleased.

"You have not eaten all day," Hannibal said. "You must be hungry."

Will took a moment to evaluate how he felt before replying.

"Famished," he answered, then motioned towards the door. "Shall we?"

The applause that arose from the stretched table was more for Hannibal than Will. He recognized a few of the faces of the nobles that stood around the table clapping, among them Chilton, Countess Bloom, and Commander Crawford. With a slight wave of his hands, Hannibal motioned for his guests to stop clapping and sit down.

Hannibal easily slipped into his chair, much larger and more decorated than the others and situated at the head of the table. He rested his hand near the empty place at his left. Will understood his message, and eased himself into the chair, carefully moving his sword into a more comfortable position. Countess Bloom sat one seat diagonally from him, but next to Marquess Chilton. Crawford sat on the opposite end of the table. It was unclear whether this was done to distance him from Hannibal, Will, or both of them.

The servants, dressed in only black and white, carried silver platters into the room and placed them on the table. Hannibal was announcing the various dishes with elaborate names, but Will was focused on the servants raising the covers one by one. Underneath each one was steaming meat wrapped in unrecognizable vegetables, casting a warm fog upwards. His fingers twisted the napkin in his lap.

Around him, the guests took plentiful portions of the meat, which leaked bloody juice onto their plates. When a servant offered him the platter, he took a small portion of meat and an unproportionally large amount of the vegetables. His plate reminded him of the garden's he'd strolled through yesterday.

As the other guests took mouthfuls of their meat, Will bit into a sliver of what he thought was lettuce. After chewing for a few painful seconds, he swallowed and noticed Freddie's frizzy red mane turned towards him.

"So, Sir Graham," Chilton piped up, mid-bite. "You didn't mention yesterday that you were being considered for a position in the palace."

"I didn't know myself when we spoke yesterday," Will explained.

"Hm, and what are the duties of this new position of yours, Sir Graham," he asked. "I assume 'Sir' is still the correct title?"

"Sir is fine," Will said. "As far as my duties, I ensure the king's safety."

"And there could not be a better candidate for the job," Hannibal said. Will bowed his head in thanks and Chilton beamed at having the king join their conversation.

"I do not doubt, Your Majesty," he said, taking another bite out of the meat. "And may I say, this beef is simply exquisite."

"You are too kind," Hannibal said.

"I did not know you and Sir William knew each other," Countess Bloom interject. "May I ask how you too met?"

Will heart seized as he shoved a rushed lie into an explanation, but even as his lips parted, Hannibal said, "I had been told of his accomplishments, both killing the Scarlet Shrike and almost catching the Ripper."

A few of the most curious heads turned to listen to His Majesty's explanation, including Will.

"I was very dismayed when I heard of his retirement from the royal guard, but I have a policy of never passing up an opportunity. So I implored him to join me at the palace," Hannibal said.

"Very wise," Chilton commended. "These are dangerous times, and having a personal guard is a good security."

"Especially with the reemergence of the Ripper," Will said. The guests that had been listening to the conversation paused their eating to glance down nervously at their food, their stomachs repelled by the thought that someone in London must be feasting on flesh tonight.

"I apologize," Will said, impaling a carrot with his fork and cutting it with his knife. "I was under the impression that this was already announced to the city."

"I had hoped to avoid panic in the city until more progress could be made finding him," Hannibal said.

"A very wise decision, Your Majesty," Chilton said, tilting his head slightly. Will eyed the Countess next to him, who stared down at her dish with a frown tugging at her lips.

"Wouldn't it be wiser to inform the citizens that there is a killer prowling the streets again?" Will asked with a raise of his eyebrow. A small spark of satisfaction encouraged him when the Countess looked up at his words. "I have faith in them that they will not panic, but will instead take precautions. Avoiding walking home alone at night, staying away from the shadier parts of town, perhaps waiting to do business until after the Ripper had been caught."

If the guests were shocked before, now they were concerned. Chilton's eyebrows rose and the Countess nearly dropped her fork. At the end of the table, Crawford craned his head to get a better understanding of what had just occurred, as if it would heighten his sense of hearing. Freddie had also managed to stalk closer to the head of the table. Only Hannibal and Will seemed unflustered.

"I had not considered that option," Hannibal said. "Another reason why you prove so valuable, you have better knowledge of the ways of the common people than I."

With a simple sentence, Hannibal managed to release the tension mounting in the room. There was a light nervous laughter from the guests, who returned to their food. Will should have felt complimented, but instead embarrassment rose in his stomach. The rest of the party moved on in conversation as a quartet of instruments set up their ensemble in the corner. Chilton finished a bit of his meat, then turned his attention again to Will.

"Have you thought anymore about my offer?" he asked, twirling his fork. Will blinked twice before he could conjure his memories of the conversation.

"Ah yes. Well I'm afraid that I cannot offer my brain since I've already dedicated my services to the king," Will said, grateful that he had such an easy and infallible excuse. The two violins, cello, and flute played softly in the background. The flutist stuck out as slightly flatter than the other instruments.

"Shame," Chilton said, his eyes sliding to gaze at the king while his attention was elsewhere. "You are still invited for dinner at my residence, and perhaps a visit to my conservatory afterwards."

"Thank you for the invitation," Will said. "I will certainly take it when my duties provide me an evening of rest."

As Will said this, he locked eyes with the Countess. She smiled back at him, both of them ignoring the Marquess's ensuing ramble about his conservatory. A high-pitched squeak from the flutist caused Will to break eye contact to grimace. The Countess laughed, quickly bringing her napkin up to cover her lips in a coquettish fashion. His joy from his was short-lived for they were not the only ones who had noticed the mistake.

Hannibal raised his now empty wine-glass, and Freddie was by his side refilling his glass instantly. He whispered something in her ear. She straightened up again, and Will followed her path as she circled the table to the quartet. In a moment, the four men were escorted out.

"Sir William?" the Countess asked, awaiting his answer. Will looked back at her, struggling to recall what she had just asked him.

"What does Crawford think of all this?" She repeated. "I know you two are good friends."

"I haven't had the chance to speak with Crawford," Will said.

"I am sure that our good Commander will approve of Will's promotion," Hannibal said. "As I'm sure you are pleased."

The Countess's breath caught, but she covered it well. Will studied her as she took a sip of her wine before answering.

"I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning," she said.

"I was referring to your friendship with Sir William," Hannibal said.

"I would hardly call it friendship," Will said. "We have not seen each other for many years."

"I am glad to have a new face in court," Countess Bloom said, shifting conversation. "And I'm glad to see extra protection for Your Majesty."

"Thank you for reminding me," Hannibal said reaching for his glass and fork. He lightly tapped the fork on the glass, gathering the attention of all of the guests.

"Thank you all for attending my dinner party," he said as a small applause rose from the table. "As you are all aware, this dinner was in honor of the appointment of my new personal guard. I'd like now to take a moment to officially recognize the knight I've chosen, and bestow a gift of loyalty and honor on him."

A butler stepped forward, holding a sword sheathed in a black case decorated with golden vines which wrapped up to the handle. The golden ropes that entwined to make the handle appeared too flimsy to stay, yet they remained sturdy when Hannibal lifted the sword off the pillow it rested on.

Will understood his silent message, and stood up. Hannibal held the sword out to him, and he bowed deeply. His eyes scanned the sleek design of the sword as he rose. It was much slimmer than the bulky sword he'd been given on the royal guard. His fingers easily wrapped around it.

"I hope you all enjoyed the meal," Hannibal said. "And now, let us retire to our quarters."

Hannibal gave a final bow to his guests, then turned and exited through the doors held open by two butlers. Will searched for the Countess Bloom, but caught Jack Crawford's gaze of confusion and anger. Not wanting to any his questions, Will turned and followed Hannibal down the hallway.

"Would you care to join me for a glass of wine before retiring?" Hannibal asked, already stepping into his room, leaving the door ajar for Will to follow.

"I need a glass of wine after that dinner," he said, taking the glass offered by Hannibal.

"That was not too unbearable," Hannibal said. Will didn't answer, just drank half of his glass.

"You did not eat any of the meat," Hannibal noted, taking a sip of his own wine.

"I had a very filling breakfast," Will lied. "I am not used to the excesses of palace life."

"It takes a strong will to maintain a sense of one's dignity when given all the luxuries one could want," Hannibal said. "However, I do not fear you sharing the fate of the other nobles."

"What fate is that?"

"Pampered wolves lulled into vegetarianism."

Will failed to mention that vegetarianism was currently a very appealing notion.

"I expect you'll keep me busy," Will said, finishing his wine. He placed it down on the table, and found his hand remaining there to hold himself up. He fought back a yawn.

"Yes," Hannibal said. "You have an intimidating amount of work waiting for you tomorrow."

"In that case, I should get a good night's rest," Will said with a bow of his head, hearing his bed calling to him. Hannibal returned it, then finished his own wine. Will stepped into his own room and closed the door, taking a moment to lean on it for support before placing the new sword on the wardrobe. He then unhooked the old one from his waist and flung it onto the nearby chair. He was barely able to untangle the cravat from his neck and unbutton his coat before he collapsed onto his bed.


	7. A Day's Work

The thick blankets trapped Will onto the bed, making panic rise in his lungs. He tore through the layers until the cool night air engulfed his burning body. His own panting filled the quiet of the night. The door to the balcony slowly tapped back and forth against the wind. Will brushed a curl doused in sweat away from his face.

He waited several anxious minutes for guards to come bursting in or Hannibal, awakened by his scream, to open the door. But the night was still.

Finally, he rose from the bed and walked to the open balcony door, his feet leaving heat marks on the icy polished wood. Will had the intention of returning to bed after closing the door, but instead found himself standing outside the hidden door. Beyond it he heard nothing but silence. He knew there must be a reason why Hannibal had not stirred at his yells.

Will wiped the sweat from his palm, and quietly opened the door. All the curtains were shut in the room, enfolding it in darkness which seeped into Will's room. He peered in and endured the momentary strain of the blackness until his eyes could adjust. When they did, he glanced over to Hannibal's bed and noticed it was empty.

Even though he had discovered what he had come for, Will's feet continued into the room. They propelled him across the soft rug to the bed, and then his hands were spreading themselves across it, searching for the missing king. When he was sure that there was nothing to be found, he remained hunched over the bed worried about the king, but not necessarily the king's safety.

He only stirred when he heard footsteps coming down the wall. He quickly flattened out the bedspread and slipped out of the room, leaving it as he found it.

Will laid back on his bed and stared at the fresco wrapped in golden frame above him. All plans of sleep were abandoned when he heard someone enter the room next door. There was purposeful shuffling, the usual routines of preparing for sleep, before it fell silent again. It hung heavy as Will imagined where the king had wandered off to during the night, and who Will would find in the morning.

The quiet of the morning was unsettling compared to the usual hustle of Will's neighborhood. Unable to fall back asleep, he decided to rise and prepare for the day. After changing into fresh clothes, he donned the new sword. It was much lighter on his waist than the other had been. He could easily forget it was there for it was built much more like a fencing sword than the typical royal guard sword.

Although the sun had not yet risen, he slipped into the hallway to discover several nobles already awaiting His Royal Majesty. Freddie had said the king rises at exactly seven, so shortly Will could let them in. He fought to hide his confusion at their insistence to be the first to see the king at the start of the day. Hannibal's words from the night before rung in his ears.

"How was your first night sleeping in the palace?" Freddie asked, appearing from nowhere.

"It was fine, thank you," Will said, staying guard at Hannibal's door. There was a maid behind Freddie that timidly held a tray of tea and what Will assumed was Hannibal's breakfast.

"The transition can be traumatic for some," she said. "The pillows are just too soft. I can arrange for any adjustments, if you'd like."

"I'm fine, thank you," Will said, his eyes heavy and circled with dark shadows. He was put off by the glint in Freddie's eyes, the look of a gambler who can see the other players' cards.

"Let me know if you change your mind," she said. "Although, I doubt if there will be many people sleeping comfortably tonight."

"Why?" Will asked, his curiosity making him forgo his attempt to discourage Freddie from conversation.

"The Ripper killed again last night," she said. Will's last traces of sleep were shuddered off.

"You don't seem very surprised," Freddie said. Will's mouth twitched with concern, Freddie suddenly fading further into the background. But he quickly realized the deadliness of her question and knew he must respond.

"The Ripper always kills in series. This one is just starting, and it was inevitable that he would kill again," Will said, staring beyond Freddie. "The question is: when will he kill next, and how long will this period last before he stops or is stopped?"

"An interesting point," Freddie said, watching out of the side of her eye as more nobles arrived. "One you could have shared with Commander Crawford, but you didn't. Why not?"

"I don't need to explain myself, or my actions," Will said. Freddie's face didn't move, yet her eyes look up at him slyly. She only looked away when the bell of Big Ben began to ring, vibrating the hallways slightly as the other clocks in the palace chimed along with it.

"Good luck on your first day," she said, her words curling off her tongue like a curse. Will knocked twice on the door before opening it. Hannibal stared out his window, already dressed. His head turned so he could smile at Will. Freddie and her maid stepped past Will, into the room.

"Good morning, Your Highness," she said as the maid set the tray down with a bow before exiting. Freddie held up a letter with a seal on it. "The morning report."

"Thank you," he said, taking the letter in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Will remained at the door, his hand resting on his sword. He could hear the nobles outside, their excitement growing. Hannibal set his tea down and looked up from the letter to Will.

"It seems the Ripper has killed again," he said. Freddie feigned surprise and gave Will a sideways glance. He remained silent and stony-faced.

"I feel I must take more action," he said. "Perhaps by sending a personal representative to the investigation. Will?"

"Certainly," he said.

"I'll arrange a carriage for him, Your Highness," Freddie offered.

"Thank you. That will be all Freddie," Hannibal said. Freddie bowed and left the room. "And Will, at noon we have a meeting with the Archbishop of Canterbury."

"I won't be late," Will said. "What will you do before then?"

"I will be spending the morning writing drafts of the first proposal to Parliament for my campaign to beautify London," Hannibal said. "My study is well guarded, so your services would do better elsewhere. However, you are still welcome to escort me."

"Those nobles are sounding a little jumpy this morning," Will said, opening the door for Hannibal. The polite applause began when he appeared. He greeted a few of the nobles as Will closed the door behind them. Finally, he broke away and headed down the hallway. Will followed him until they reached the study.

"Drugging me last night was unnecessary," Will said when they were out of hearing range from any nobles, guards, or servants.

"Forgive me," Hannibal said. "It was only a light sedative. I thought it might relieve some of your nightmares, and I knew you would be apprehensive."

"Who told you about my nightmares?" Will asked, knowing that wasn't the real reason Hannibal slipped whatever it was into his wine.

"As a king it is my duty to show concern," Hannibal said. "And that requires using my resources effectively."

"Freddie." Will stated. Hannibal didn't contradict him. "How does she know?"

"She is a knowledgeable woman," Hannibal said. "There isn't much she doesn't know. And that has its uses."

"You could just ask," Will said.

"Would you tell me truthfully if I did?" Hannibal asked.

"As your personal guard I would be compelled to," Will pointed out.

"But as a friend?" Hannibal asked. Will didn't respond, and they had reached the study anyway. Hannibal opened the door but before entering said, "I look forward to hearing your report."

Will remained standing outside the door for a moment before leaving to find the carriage.

"I'll be damned," Price said, shaking his head at the carriage that had just dropped off Will Graham.

"Glad to have you back," Zeller said. Will returned his smile.

"I knew you wouldn't abandon this case," Crawford said, stepping forward. "But I like being kept informed."

"You're talking about the new job." Will said. "I was actually sent by the king himself. As his representative."

"The king's taken personal notice?" Zeller asked. "I don't know whether to be honored or scared."

"A little of both," Will said. Crawford's mouth hung dryly in a frown.

"Jack, I know you don't like the idea of the king interfering, but I'm asking you to trust me here," Will said. "You know how much I want to catch the Ripper."

"And I know you're probably our best chance of that," he said and gave a deep sigh. "Alright, well, the body's this way."

He led Will towards the church, and Will was briefly reminded of the meeting later today with the Archbishop. He shook the thought away. The light filtered through the colored stained glass windows, and the large circular window above the altar seemed to stare down the pews like the eye of God.

A figure sat in the front pew on the edge of the ring of light from the windows. He was dressed in a white tie and a tailcoat. There was a small stain of red above his chest.

"The sound of harpists, musicians, flutists, and trumpeters will never be heard in you again…" Will mumbled.

"I'm sorry?" The Commander asked. Will shook his head, having recognized the dead man's face.

"He's a flutist. Look at his fingers," he pointed to the small circles on the tips of his finger. "He had recently finished playing before he was killed."

"How do you know it was a flute?" Zeller asked. "There are other instruments that have holes."

"Only his thumbs have marks, and only the thumb holes are open on flutes," Price explained.

"Well, we searched his pockets and found this watch," Crawford said, unfolding a handkerchief to reveal a silver watch with a name engraved on it.

"Benjamin René Raspail," Will read. "Do we know cause of death or if he's missing any organs?"

"Not yet, but Beverly will help us figure it out once we get the body back," Zeller said.

"Alright," Will said, taking a deep breath of the dank church air that had been sitting too long in the stone walls like a tomb.

"Let him do his work," Jack said, guiding Zeller and Price out.

The rainbow light warmed Will's skin. A golden pendulum swung across his vision, and the light began to fade away, his skin chilling. He walked backwards and the room darkened as night rose once more. Raspail rolled himself up till he was standing, then retraced his steps, flute clutched in hand. As he exited the church, Will blended into the shadow of a pillar and waited for his prey to arrive.

The wooden door, saturated with London dampness, creaked open as Raspail stepped into the church where he lived in exchange for his services during mass. His footsteps echoed in the empty cavern. Will's eyes trailed him. There was a heaviness to his footsteps, a recent disappointment or embarrassment.

Will emerged from the shadows. Raspail's eyes narrowed slightly, triggered by faint recognition.

"Do I kno-"

"The flute is an elegant instrument, when played correctly," Will said, slithering closer. "But an instrument is only as talented as its player."

Raspail clutched his instrument, his fingers naturally fitting over the keys in a mix of muscle memory and comfort in familiarity.

"Luckily for you, I am a very talented musician," Will said, grabbing Raspail's shoulder with one hand to pull him closer and quickly piercing his heart with a thick needle all in an instant. Will pulled the needle out, causing a spurt of blood to fountain out and onto the stone floor. Raspail gasped for breath, unable to scream for help. He stumbled and threatened to crash to the floor in a messy puddle, so Will caught him and set him on the pew. It was much neater that way.

Raspail's body shrunk over like a raisin drying in the sun until the last of his life seeped away. His flute now sat stiffly in his hand. Will reached out and cleaned a drop of blood from it. The metal was cheap and worn away by years of mistreatment. He disassembled it and set it down on the pew.

Then he took out his surgeon kit.

"After removing the desired organs, I button his shirt and leave him for the priest to find before Sunday mass," Will stood and picked up the flute pieces.

"I dispose of the second-rate instruments in pieces. Scattering it across London. One in the open sewer. One in the pile of horse manure. And one in the Thames, where it will sink to the bottom and rust so there will be no chance of any other mediocre musicians putting it to use.

"This..." Will trailed off, realizing he'd missed a detail. There was no coat on the body, but Raspail must have been wearing one in the rainy London night before.

"I take off your coat. Why?" He asked. "And where did I put it?"

From his limited experience with churches, Will Graham guessed where the living quarters were located and wandered off down the hall to the left of the pulpit. There was a single drop of blood lying forlornly in the hallway.

"I take your coat back to your room," he said, easily finding Raspail's mess of a room. This was the kind of mess that accumulated after years with a cluttered mind, not the mess of someone searching for something. There was no coat. Then he closed the door and found it hanging on the hook, hiding behind the door like a frightened child. His hands reached, as if to comfort it, but instead patted it down in search of evidence. He heard a crinkle from a pocket as his hand passed over it, and found a letter and a ring concealed within.

The ring was golden and rather high quality. It's design was identical to the seal on the stamp. The seal had been broken, but Will could make out what appeared to be a dragon in the dried red wax, arching its back as fire from its mouth curved around its body and over its wings. He quickly read the letter, written in unfamiliar and sloppy handwriting.

B. Raspail,

Your accusation of the king's role in his predecessor's passing confirmed by coroner. Your payment is left in the normal meeting spot.

-G.R.D.

Will's eyes poured over the painfully short letter several times. Clearly the payment mentioned had been the ring. The sentences in the letter were short and clearly written in a rush. The use of passive tense was unusual, perhaps G.R.D didn't naturally speak English and had recently learned it. The initials G.R.D. were puzzling for now. What was even more puzzling was the accusation. Did Hannibal murder his uncle?

But it was clear that this coat had been put here for Will to find, and why would Hannibal want Will to discover that? He returned to the church very disgruntled.

A stream of light leaked in when Jack opened the door cautiously. Will nodded that it was alright to enter.

"Anything?" He asked and Will held up the letter for him.

"Looks like a conspiracy against the king," Jack said.

"A conspiracy? Jack, I don't think it's a lie," Will said. "I think it's at least worth checking into."

"I'll check into it," Jack said, tucking the letter into his chest pocket. Lines appeared around Will's eyes as he watched the letter disappear. "Anything else?"

"The Ripper killed him because he felt disrespected by him," Will said after a moment, deciding that if Jack was going to be thick-headed then he didn't need his authority or the letter to investigate it. A hushed voice pointed out that Jack was displaying a noticeable pattern of defending Hannibal, but Will didn't acknowledge it. "He left him dead for the priest to find him after his final judgment."

"So the Ripper thinks he's God?" Jack asked. Will shook his head.

"No, the Ripper thinks he's better than God," he said. "He separated the three flute pieces across the city. One's almost definitely in the Thames. The others are more unpredictable. Maybe a sewer, some back alley."

"I'll send some men to check out the docks, see if any suspicious men were seen throwing things into the river," Jack said. After a moment of silence he added, "Do you know when the next murder will be? Or who?"

"It's impossible to tell," he said. "At first I thought the periods were getting shorter, but now I'm not so sure. His murders are erratic and difficult to decipher because they are emotionally driven by specific encounters he's had with the victims. When and who it'll be next is impossible to predict."

"All we can do is wait?" Jack asked. Will gazed at Raspail's body and remembered the thrill of the needle in his hand.

"I suppose so," he said. You can wait. I'm going to find G.R.D.

Will adjusted his coat and headed for the heavy church door. The church bells began to ring, sending a shudder through the chamber. As he stepped into the sun, Zeller intercepted him before he reached his carriage.

"Find anything good?" He asked. Will shook his head.

"Not particularly," he said. "The Ripper's kills are all unique. He'll never kill this way again. Makes it hard to guess what he'll do next."

"Mm…" he said. His tone shifted as he walked with Will towards the carriage. He rummaged through his pockets and pulled a crinkled letter out. "Beverly wrote you."

"Thank you," Will said, recognizing Beverly's familiar calligraphy.

"She told me what's in it. She insists you come to dinner soon," Zeller said, his right eye squinting more than his left. It always did that when he was in a good mood. Will considered the dinner he'd be spending in isolation at the palace and easily accepted.

"She'll be so happy," he said. "Honestly that was easier than I was expecting. And between you and me, I was a little worried about going home without getting you to come."

"I'll try to send you a letter ahead of time when I'll be dropping by," Will said. "The palace schedule is very tight."

"I'll let her know, don't worry," Zeller said. He clasped Will's shoulder as a goodbye. Will gave him a nod as he bent back into the carriage.

Will was lucky to steal a loaf of bread from the kitchen before the meeting with the archbishop. He found Hannibal in the study where he'd left him. He gave a knock on the door before entering.

"How was it?" Hannibal asked, his eyes not leaving the paper he was writing on as Will entered the room.

"The murder was neat," Will said, searching his head for the appropriate adjective. Hannibal looked up. "Barely a blood stain out of place. Certainly an impressive feat. Although, you'll never guess who the victim was."

"Oh?" Hannibal asked, eyes returning to the paper.

"A flutist named Raspail. Same flutist that played at dinner."

"That is most unfortunate for him. Yet I cannot say I did not foresee some harm befalling him," Hannibal said. "As payment for his services, I offered him a golden necklace but warned him against wearing it openly on his return home. He did not listen. I assume the necklace was gone when you examined him?"

"No. There was no necklace," Will said. His voice almost stumbled over itself at how flawlessly Hannibal could lie.

"What is Crawford's plan of action?" Hannibal asked.

"Search for witnesses near the Thames where a piece of the flute was likely thrown into the river," Will said, his mind still wrapping itself around the necklace. He did not notice Hannibal's eyes brighten with the knowledge of Will's withholding of information from him.

"I am almost done with this draft," Hannibal said. "I hope you'll read it, I'd appreciate your opinion. But now we have a meeting."

Hannibal left the draft to dry. Then they headed down the hallway.

"I must warn you beforehand," Hannibal said. "The Archbishop's many years of correspondence with his holiness above seemed to have sapped some of his sanity."

"I'll keep that in mind," Will said. "However, I barely feel it is my place to speak during your meeting. I'm only there for protection."

"I value your insight," Hannibal said when they reached a small meeting room. Will knocked on the door and from the other side heard an excited voice say, "Come in."

Will opened the door for Hannibal and followed him in. He was taken aback for a moment at the Archbishop's disheveled hair and wrinkled robe. Even more, the Archbishop remained sitting when Hannibal entered. He held up his hand, offering the golden cross on his ring for Hannibal to kiss. Will watched with a mixture of bewilderment and quiet satisfaction as Hannibal was forced to kneel and kiss his ring.

"Hello, Your Majesty," the Archbishop said, his voice too jittery. Hannibal sat down opposite him and greeted him with strained effort.

"Archbishop Mason," he said. Will watched the exchange with slight disinterest from the corner. "How have you been?"

"Horrible," Mason said. "Simply horrible. The churches are running out of funding, and our missionaries keep getting killed or married. Only yesterday I visited a city orphanage, and the children couldn't stop crying because their favorite nun was just transferred. You see, we were rearranging certain dioses to make up for the lack of funding."

"And how has your sister been?" Hannibal asked.

"Margot?" Mason asked. "She has been doing fantastically. You know how she was always so distanced from Our Lord and Savior? Well, I'm very glad to say that she's seen the light and become a nun. She's now living in an abby somewhere in the countryside. To think, she sacrificed the possibility of inheriting our family's great fortune for Jesus. If that's not faith, I don't know what is."

The way Mason squeezed his words from his mouth irritated Will like a lemon being dripped into his eye. He felt every inflection like a nail in his temple. It was obvious Hannibal felt it too.

"I'm sorry for poor Margot," he said. "She always struck me as a maternal woman."

"Well, now she can use her maternity for Jesus," Mason said, now eyeing Will and apparently no longer interested in the topic of his sister. "Who's the new lapdog?"

At the condescending question, Will looked directly at the Archbishop and fought the urge to try out his new sword on him. Hannibal met the question with his usual poise and slight flutter of his hand, "Sir William Graham is not a lapdog. He is my personal guard and anything you can tell me you can also tell him."

"And anything you can tell me," Mason said and pointed towards the heavens with an amused smile, "you can also tell him."

"I will keep that in mind," Hannibal said. "Was there a specific reason for this meeting request?"

"Ah yes," Mason said, rolling his eyes as if it would somehow trigger his memory. "I wanted to ask for funding for another church. But this one is going to be even bigger than the last."

"Is that so? And why is this church necessary?"

"Why, to better connect your subjects to his holiness," Mason said. "I assume you want your subjects to receive salvation from eternal damnation?"

Hannibal took a deep breath, and sighed inwardly, a reaction slightly dulled by repetition.

"You know I want the best for my subjects," Hannibal said. Will paid close attention, curious as to Hannibal's interaction with this infernal bishop. "And in this case that is saving funding for more immediate projects."

"Like your parks proposal?" Mason asked. "I think the people would prefer spending eternity in his kingdom."

"In the meantime they can have a taste of it on Earth," Hannibal said. Mason lips stuck together like two curled worms.

"And what if Parliament deems it a waste of money?" Archbishop Mason inquired, reaching for a glass of wine.

"That does not worry me," Hannibal said, beginning to rise. Mason had barely sipped his wine. "If there is nothing else, I will excuse myself."

"I suppose that's all I have for today," the Archbishop said, not hiding the disdain in his voice. "I'll tell Margot you wished her well."

Hannibal bowed his head, and swept his cape with a flourish as he left the room. As he closed the door, Will heard Mason loudly sipping the wine.

"Quite a holy figure," Will said. Hannibal brushed a speck of dust from the fur trimming of his cape.

"As the head of the church, I must also manage the dioceses. And sometimes that requires doing a noble a favor by giving his son a position as bishop," Hannibal said. Will ignored his instinct to glance back down the hallway. "Or Archbishop."

"Necessary sacrifice for your bill to pass in Parliament," Will said keeping the thin edge off his words.

"For a bill to pass, it most importantly must be well-written," Hannibal said. Will hid his irritation at Hannibal's ability to dodge questions as swiftly as he dodged opponent's swings while fencing. "I'm sure it'd benefit from your knowledge."

Hannibal gazed at Will until he nodded in agreeance.


	8. A Secret

After a small glass of wine with Hannibal, Will announced that he had to visit Freddie for a fresh face towel. Hannibal wished him goodnight, and retired to bed. Will felt no guilt about partly lying as he left to visit Freddie. He was thankful to not run into anyone on his way to her room.

When he arrived, he lightly rapped on her door. She answered it after a second, apparently about to retire herself. Her eccentric hair was tucked underneath a bed cap and she was wearing a white nightgown. Will suppressed the blush out of his cheeks.

"I hope you're not just asking for a fresh face towel?" She asked. Will shook his head.

"I was curious," he said, feigning amicability, "and I thought you could answer my questions."

A smile emerged on Freddie's face that curled up to her cheeks. In combination with her nightgown, it reminded Will of the wolf in disguise from the Fairy Tales he sometimes caught snippets of in his childhood when his father used to read them to his mother.

"I'm always glad to impart knowledge," Freddie said, but instead of opening the door, she only leaned forward and said. "But, as I'm sure you know, knowledge costs."

"A secret for a secret," Will said. "Fair exchange."

Freddie smiled and opened up her door. Will stepped through, glad he wasn't wearing a red hood.

Her room was surprisingly modest. The only thing noteworthy was the installation of a desk in the corner, littered with papers and novels. Will wasn't sure what a head maid would need to write.

"The first thing I want to know is where you came from," Freddie said.

"I was born in London. I came from the destitute district," Will said. "94 Guild Street."

"That's not what I meant," Freddie said. "Where did your family come from? Your father?"

Freddie saw the reluctance in Will's tense jaw line, and tried to soften her features.

"Family history is a powerful weapon in court," she explained. Will frowned as if he'd already known that but her admitting it aloud bothered him.

"My parents were Lord and Lady Graham. I grew up in a castle in West Essex," Will explained, his eyes remaining hard. "When my father was stripped of his title, we were forced into poverty. William Graham became Will Graham."

Freddie's eyes were sharp and concentrating, running through her memories of where she'd heard the name Graham. She adjusted her head when she found the memory.

"Graham. Wasn't he charged with theft?" She asked.

"He angered some nobles when he married my mother. They exacted their revenge by accusing him of stealing their land," Will said. "I don't think they anticipated my mother being dismissed with him."

Will paused, allowed Freddie to absorb this information. He shoved down his resentments, as he always did when confronted with the past.

"If you're satisfied," Will said, "I believe it's my turn."

Freddie nodded.

"How did the previous king die?" Will asked. Freddie seemed taken aback but quickly recovered.

"I wasn't employed then, but I heard he fell down the Grand Stairs. After a painful night of doctors being unable to save him, he died."

"He fell or was pushed?" Will asked. Freddie frowned.

"I haven't heard anything that suggests it was planned," Freddie explained. Frustration slapped Will across the face as he realized that after the risks he took he'd hit a deadend. "But I know the coroner who prepared the body for burial."

Will's eyes quickly focused on her in anticipation.

"Joseph Gardner. 15 Bromdell Lane," she said. "I'm sure he could give you details. If you're feeling very anxious, use the western kitchen stairwell. It's a shortcut, although the stairs can be creaky late at night; built with too much empty space beneath."

"Thank you," Will said, surprised by how genuine his words were.

"No, thank you," Freddie said. "My door's always open if you're in a talkative mood."

Freddie's farewell left an anxious sting on the back of Will's neck, which died down as he put more distance between himself and her room. It died down to little more than an irritating itch, for now.

He headed back to his room, intent on taking his normal route. Then he recalled Freddie's parting comment about the kitchen stairwell. It seemed rather unnecessary. Will took the detour to the stairwell. He lit a small candle to chase away the shadows in the cramped stairwell. He took a cautionary step onto the first stair, testing it. Freddie was telling the truth, it did creak.

Will analyzed the architecture of the room, searching for whatever clue Freddie had dropped. It was strangely organized, there being a small dead-end corner between the wall and the stairwell. Will stepped into it and brushed his hand over the wooden panel that ran under the stairs. It's vast smoothness was suddenly interrupted by some engraving. Will held the candle closer to squint at it in the dark.

It appeared to be an engraving of a crown with stag horns emerging from it. Will pushed against the panel and it slowly swung away from him. Beyond it lay a different stairwell, one of menacing stone leading down into blackness as dark as hell. Will was thankful he'd brought the candle. He closed the door and imagined Theseus must have felt a similar apprehension as he descended into the labyrinth prison of that mythical Minotaur.

The tunnel emptied outside of a small church. After long minutes of only his thoughts and the echo of his footsteps, Will had been beginning to worry if the tunnel would ever end. He was even more surprised to discover that he recognized his location. It was only a few streets away from the Rue Norman. It wasn't far at all to Bromdell Lane.

When Will found the coroner's home, he knocked. He received no reply, as to be expected so late at night. Will added more force and urgency to his next knock, but was stumped by the same outcome. He examined the possibilities. Dr. Gardner may simply be unwilling to open his door at this late hour. He may be unable to open the door. Or he may not be home.

Will decided to pay the nearby tavern a visit. The burly host easily determined Will had a purpose besides buying a drink, and so didn't bother to conjure any hospitality. Will dug a coin from his pocket, aware that the man would be more friendly after making a profit. Once the beer was placed before him and the necessary amicable interactions had been finished, Will asked about his good friend Joseph Gardner. His question elicited a few laughs from the other customers. So Gardner was definitely a regular here.

"Joe's helping a lady companion tonight," the man explained. "And what kind of friend calls on another past midnight?"

"A friend who has a matter of some urgency to discuss," Will said. "Do you know when he might return?"

"I'd get comfy," a man from another table interrupted. A fat cigar hung from the side of his mouth. "Ol'd Joe'll be gone for quite some time."

"Poor boy," another said, shaking his head.

"Poor?" Will asked. The man reached for his stained top hat, the stitchings on it unraveling.

"His lass was murdered," he explained. "Ripper."

A shiver of concern ran down Will's spine. It was as if attempting to accurately view a painting hidden beneath layers of cloth. He'd removed a layer and felt one step closer to seeing the painting.

"You've been of great help," Will said, leaving his half-emptied beer. He left a generous tip, expenses no longer being an issue for him.

He exited the tavern and quickly headed towards the area where the prostitute's body had been found. The Ripper had probably killed her to find information on Gardner, his real target. If he was correct, Gardner would most probably stalk the same area to find a replacement and the Ripper would be close behind.

The most likely reason why Gardner is being targeted is his knowledge of the previous king's passing. The Ripper would be eager to destroy any damning evidence and Will couldn't allow that to happen. The man had said that Gardner would be gone for a while, so Will knew he had plenty of time. And if he was correct, he had a head start on the Ripper.

Gardner's door was too easy to open. The hard part was shuffling through his piles of paper in the darkness. From the few words he could read in the faint light, they were all personal or financial papers. Nothing about working for the king. Finally, Will took a breath and stepped into Gardner's world.

The unorganized papers on the desk before him were unimportant, and neither Will nor Gardner cared for them. The prized possessions were all kept together in a neat stack, Will noticed a cushioned chair with deep depressions from hours of dedicated reading. The small tears where a few feathers were peeking out did not lessen its value. Beside the chair sat a pile of books. Their bindings were loose.

Will picked up the one on the top and let the book naturally fall open. The pages opened up to reveal a diagram of a man with his chest surgically opened up. It detailed the layers of skin and where the correct incisions should be started. Will put the book down and instead picked up the only book without a title.

He sat down on the chair, his body fitting into the depressions. There was a piece of paper sticking out from the book. Even in the darkness, Will recognized the red sigil on the wax seal. He opened the book to where the letter was sticking out. First he read the letter, which was again sent by G.R.D. The letter set a meeting time, that had past at this point, with Gardner to discuss the information Gardner had concerning the previous king's passing.

Will tucked the letter into his coat and started looking through the book, which appeared to be Gardner's journal. The entry was from today. Asking for my personal notes. It appeared he'd gone to the meeting. Good offer. Don't think it went well. The writing sounded worried. Didn't like my answer. Even frantic. I no longer have my report on the death.

Gardner knew he was in danger. Suspected he was being followed. Will suspected he was right.

Maybe I can get the notes back from the Commander.

Commander Crawford? No, he wasn't Commander until after Hannibal was in power. He wouldn't have been in charge of the previous king's examination. But Will couldn't remember who the previous Commander was.

Will replaced what he'd moved and left the house. Gardner had nothing else to offer him. But the Ripper was still interested, so Will headed in his direction. He walked directly in the street, no longer filled with hurrying carriages. He drifted in and out of the circles illuminated by the lamplights as he headed to his destination.

Without the usual noise of the city, Will was left with only his own thoughts. Not especially wanting to think about any of them, he tried to distract himself. He paid close attention to the houses he was passing, but the black wood saturated by London's dense fog made them all look like one long destitute shack that zigzagged and folded in upon itself to fill the city. Will wondered if anything had the power to free itself from those chains of wood, fog and cobblestone. He wondered if a park could actually uproot the sinister disease.

The dog with the black soot over its eye, prancing through the bushes. Holding a stick in its mouth. Dropping it at Will's foot.

A pleasant thought.

Next to him, Hannibal reaches down, picks up the stick with a handkerchief, and hands it to Will so he can toss it again. The dog chases after it.

Not a rational thought. A generous program doesn't revive lives. It only rejuvenates public support and lulls people to complacency.

A shrill cry broke through the night, wrenching Will from his thoughts of ivy-covered fences and dew-covered grass. He felt adrenaline surge from his head to his feet, as he raced through the disorienting fog which twisted the direction of the scream. Will paused for a moment to deduce his location. The cry went out again, shooting up like a flare for Will to follow. Running through puddles, he ignored all his surroundings except the scream.

His heart froze when it abruptly cut off. The patter of footsteps echoed down the streets. Will thought they must be his. He stopped running when he saw a trail of blood slinking into the gutter from an alley.

Will's hand touched his sword as he turned the corner. Joseph Gardner's throat had been ripped out and thrown across the alley. His chest had been torn open and was covered in what appeared to be claw-marks. Gardner was half slumped up on the wall, but his head was tilted back to face the sky. The position would have been most uncomfortable, had he been able to feel anything.

This murder was primal. The Ripper's murders were not. Will's head ached as he tried to figure how this fit. Who else would want Gardner dead? G.R.D.?

Will heard hurried footsteps from a few streets down. He took one last look at the blood-splattered walls of the alley and painted the scene to his memory before he ran back to the secret passage.

If Hannibal had been responsible, he must not have known about the secret passage. There was no light in the distance, and Will couldn't have beaten him to it, so he couldn't be using it. But some thick uneasiness churned in Will's gut. The pieces were not fitting together.

He arrived back in the castle, and snuck back to his room. Before changing, he held his ear to Hannibal's room. There was only silence. Then Will tucked Gardner's letter behind the frame of a painting. He doubted even Freddie would find it there.

With that finished, Will could now only sit on his bed and stare out the glass doors at the city. He could see there was one district more awake than the others. Will watched the small circle with an ever-expanding number of dots of light until sleep found him.


	9. A Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finally has dinner with the Zeller residence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for delays. I'm on vacation right now and just finished a show so I didn't have time to proofread this entire chapter. Please don't be afraid to let me know about any typos, I'll definitely correct them. Thanks and enjoy!

The next morning felt like a repeat of the first. Will waited outside Hannibal’s room as a group of nobles gathered outside. Freddie approached the door, carrying the same tray as the day before.

“You seem a little tired today,” she said. Will fought back his irritation, which was only heightened by his sleep deprivation.

“I had a very tiring day yesterday,” Will said.

“I expect you’ll have another equally tiring day today, but,” Freddie paused to let Will guess what she had to say, “I’m sure you already guessed that. The Ripper’s killed again.”

“The Ripper?” Will asked. Freddie tilted her head.

“Yes. You think it was someone else?” She asked. “You certainly seem to have an awful lot of knowledge on his murders.”

“I believe the king is about to rise, if you’ll excuse me,” Will said, deciding that waking Hannibal a few minutes early was a worthwhile sacrifice to avoid Freddie’s prodding.

Will knocked on the door, and after hearing Hannibal’s reply, opened the door. Freddie stepped through to place his breakfast down. She left the morning report beside his tea.

“Anything else, Your Highness?” She asked. Hannibal dismissed her with a shake of his head. He read through the report as he sipped his tea.

“The Ripper has killed again. Two days in a row,” Hannibal said. He looked up after receiving no reply from Will. “William?”

“The people will be in a panic,” Will said, eager to brush away any suspicions. “If someone isn’t caught soon, they will only get worse.”

“Very true,” Hannibal said. “Something must be done to alleviate their worries for now. A speech, perhaps?”

“That could work. And adding a few more royal guards to the service,” Will said.

“It has been quite a while since I’ve inaugurated any new recruits,” Hannibal said with a sip of his tea. He peered over the report at the dark hanging shadows under Will’s eyes.

“You were very quiet last night,” Hannibal said. “No nightmares?”

“If only,” Will said. “I had a restless night, didn’t get much sleep.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows with concern. He lowered his tea cup.

“That is not very good,” he said. “If you are not feeling well, perhaps you should not investigate the crime scene in person. I can send another in your place, who will give you the details later. For now, you can stay in the palace.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Will said, his words slow and purposeful, “However, I am feeling quite alert. I’m sure the citizens would feel more at ease knowing I am investigating the case in person.”

“Very well,” Hannibal said with a small nod of his head. “Before you leave, would you care to spend breakfast with me?”

“Of course,” Will said, having no other choice. He shifted his sword so he could sit down on the chair where Hannibal was motioning. He waited silently and patiently until Hannibal spoke. Hannibal, meanwhile, took his time gently buttering a slice of bread.

“It is quite unfortunate,” he said, finally. Will’s heart froze, convinced that he was going to confront him about his actions of the previous night. “I fear that with the recent Ripper murders, we will have to postpone relocating to my Palace in the countrysude. I mustn't let the people suspect me of running from the Ripper.”

Will released a small breath that jumped from his mouth as a laugh. 

“What the people suspect is often the farthest from the truth,” he said with a smile. He picked up a cup of tea. The mist from its warm surface drifted across his face.

“How very true,” Hannibal said. “It is only the ones closest to us that can ever guess our true intentions.”

“Then it would be wisest to be sure those closest to us are our friends,” Will said. 

“Or perhaps it’d be better to keep our enemies close, so we can always know what their next attack will be,” Hannibal said. Will paused sipping his tea, but resumed after a moment.

“Makes you wonder who's a friend and who's an enemy,” Will said, still pondering Hannibal’s words and the implications behind them. They were confounding, but in a way they revealed a path into Hannibal’s head, if only Will could follow it to its end. Hannibal held his empty tea cup in his hand.

“It is easy to discern,” Hannibal explained. “We cannot be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved’s potential comes true.”

Will suddenly found himself staring past his empty tea cup. The tea was settling deep in his stomach, dragging him down like a weight. He felt a question forming on his lips, but instead he placed the teacup down.

“I believe the wisest plan of action would be to allow a few days to pass without a murder, and then move to the Country Palace as planned,” Will said. “It would be safer there, in case the Ripper situation does escalate.”

Hannibal gazed at Will, letting Will see his disappointment. He moved away from the conversation, but it remained prevalent behind his eyes.

“In that case, I will inform Freddie to continue the packing preparations,” Hannibal said.

“And I will depart for the crime scene,” Will said with a small bow. As he left the room, he silently scolded himself for walking too fast. It felt more like a retreat than an exit.

 

The savagery of Gardner’s murder could be better seen in the daylight, but each time Will looked down the alley, he could only see the thick shadows of the night before that concealed a murderer.

“It’s not the Ripper, Jack,” Will explained. 

“What do you think it was?” Jack asked. “A wild wolf loose in the city?”

Will turned his head to gaze at the sideways claw marks on the wall, now crusty with dried blood. Five claws, five fingers.

“I am still inclined to believe it was a man,” Will said. “I’ve never seen any animal kill this way. Beyond killing, it didn’t eat or deface the body.”

“Either way, people are going to be scared,” Jack said. “We have to catch something.”

“Any fur or hair samples?” Will asked.

“We found some, but haven’t analyzed it yet,” Jack said. Will nodded. 

“In the meantime, whoever we’re looking for would have previous outbursts. History of bar fights, or skirmishes,” Will said.

“There are a lot of people that fit that criteria in London,” Jack pointed out.

“He’ll also be intrigued, even obsessed, with animals,” Will said. “Specifically carnivores with claws,” Will glanced down at the bite wounds that penetrated deep into Gardner’s throat, “and teeth.”

Before Will left, he stopped to talk to Price and Zeller.

“Beverly’ll be thrilled to hear you’re coming over tonight,” Price said, taking off his bloody gloves. “Hopefully by then we’ll have also had a chance to analyze these fur samples.”

“And hopefully we’ll find a clue,” Will said.

“Is five alright?” Zeller asked. 

“Whatever time is best,” Will said. “I’ll make sure to be there.”

 

Will arrived back at the palace just in time to catch the end of Hannibal’s speech to Parliament. He barely paid attention to his words, because just the sound of his voice felt like a reassurance. From the faces of the Parliament members, it seemed they felt the same way.

“We must not let these murders deter us from living our lives,” the king explained. Parliament softly applauded. Lord Chilton tapped his cane on the floor. The familiar red garments of the Archbishop could also be seen, however, he was not applauding. He still looked bitter from the day before.

He seemed to be the only member not pleased by Hannibal’s speech or his proposal for more guards. Perhaps the Parliament members mistook Hannibal’s enjoyment for caring. The irony of the situation tasted dry on Will’s tongue. 

“For these reasons, I have chosen to establish more guards to ensure protection of London’s citizens,” Hannibal said. Another applause went up from the audience. “Thank you.”

He stepped down as the loudest applause of them all erupted, a large amount of which came from the upper rafters, where the citizens could watch from. Will doubted they would give the king such praise if they knew him as well as he did. He turned away and followed Hannibal to the carriage.

“Your speech seems to have gone over well,” he said. “The people seem less anxious.”

“Then I was successful,” Hannibal said. “Find anything of importance at the investigation?”

“No,” Will said. “It’s not even a Ripper murder. The scientists have fur samples though, and told me to return later tonight to hear any possible findings.”

“Fur samples?” Hannibal asked. “Do you think it was a wild animal?”

“Yes,” Will said instinctively. “At least, it thinks it is.”

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. Will shook his head, knowing that his logic wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. He waited for Hannibal to ask for an explanation, or refute him.

“Let us hope that your scientists will find something that can help us catch this culprit,” Hannibal said. Will nodded slowly. 

“In the meantime, we must begin finding and training new guards,” Hannibal said. “The sooner the better, for I do not want to delay leaving for too long and chance missing the prime hunting season.”

Will kept a neutral expression at the thought of being trapped with Hannibal, faraway from the safe familiarity of the city. The faint remains of a memory long since suppressed tugged at Will’s mind, and he briefly remembered his last experience in the country. But that was a long time ago. At least in the country, the city would be safe from the Ripper.

“Then we should start immediately,” Will said.

“The candidates are already awaiting us at the palace,” Hannibal said. 

The prospective guards were dawned in uniform performing drills in front of the palace steps. Will and Hannibal watched from a balcony that overlooked the court and gave them a viewing vantage point. Will was supposed to be watching and picking out the standout men, but his mind was elsewhere. He found himself more focused on Hannibal and the way in which his eyes would lock onto one of the men and follow him precisely, memorizing his defining features and ensuring there were no flaws hiding from his view. After he’d made his decision, his eyes would flicker to the next engaging person. If someone was deemed worthy, the corners of his mouth would nudge up and Will would add him to the list of new guards. Will wondered what his criteria were, and what little details deemed one person inferior to another. Then the thought occurred to Will that he may have used this same analysis on him, when they’d first met. Had he studied him from the shadows before stabbing him in the back, or was it during the Masquerade Ball?

Will realized that he was probably staring, so he looked down at the rows of soldiers all stepping in perfect tandem and tried to divulge what distinguished some of them to Hannibal. The accuracy of their coordination with their comrades, the sharpness of their sword, the polish on their shoes? 

Or perhaps it was some unseen quality that lay within their souls? That thought terrified him, for several reasons. It meant there was something lurking within Will, something he was unaware of but doubted it could be considered healthy. Even worse, it meant that Hannibal had been able to look inside his soul and see something he couldn’t see himself. The implications of that were too horrific to contemplate further. 

“Wouldn’t you say we’ve seen enough?” Will asked. “They’ve been doing drill practice for nearly three hours.”

“Endurance is an important trait for a palace guard,” Hannibal said. “But I have picked out all the capable candidates.”

“One hundred fifty out of nearly five hundred?” Will asked, picturing the vast layout of the city.

“Quality is preferred over quantity,” Hannibal said. “That is why power is seated in the king and not Parliament.”

“You better hope Parliament doesn’t hear that,” Will said. “You might have an uprising on your hands.”

“Uprisings are workings of the people, who agree wholeheartedly with my policies and would quickly side with me over Parliament,” Hannibal said. “But Parliament is too afraid of facing consequences to act against me.”

Will scanned the list of new recruits and attempted to match faces to names. He happened to notice the red setting sun, and pursed his lips at how quickly it’d become so late. He reminded Hannibal of his plans to meet with the scientists.

“Be careful,” Hannibal said before he left. “We both know how dangerous the city is, especially at night.”

As Will left the palace, he couldn’t help but feel its presence remain with him like a wine stain. Its atmosphere seemed to suck his energy, and it felt like ages since he’d ventured into the city when in actuality it had only been this morning. More and more Will was beginning to understand the full extent to which the palace truly was a different world, one which seemed to move at a different rate than the outside world he’d once been so accustomed to. However, now Will found himself more at home in the polished palace hallways than the gritty London streets he’d grown up on.

With his mind so occupied, he hadn’t noticed the man following him but the itch of being watched on the back of his neck awoke him from his thoughts. He slowed, and the man slowed. Whoever it was must be very inexperienced. Will quickly turned into an alley. The man followed him, and like a viper Will had his sword pressed to his neck in an instant. The man chuckled as his hood fell away. Will stepped back with surprise.

“Hannibal?” He asked, retreating backwards.

“Forgive me, Will,” he said. “I thought I’d accompany you to the scientists. I’m afraid my curiosity has gotten the better of me. But don’t you agree that the king should be directly involved in the safety of his city?”

Will ran his hands through his hair, his mind racing. It was clear now why he’d been so blatantly following him, Hannibal had wanted Will to notice and call him out. Now Will was forced to bring him along and face the repercussions of his lies, or convince him to go back to the palace. 

“I’ve worked with these scientists for a long time. They work out of their home and have a policy of having dinner with their guests before showing them their findings,” Will said, praying this lie would be close enough to the truth to deceive Hannibal. “I don’t know if they’ve prepared enough for another.”

Hannibal smiled, and Will’s stomach twisted.

“Will, you have never hosted a dinner party before. A good host always makes enough for twice his expected numbers.”

“Fine,” Will said, feeling his resolve crumble. “But we cannot reveal you’re the king. It’s too dangerous.”

“Do you not trust these scientists?” Hannibal asked. Will shook his hand.

“I trust them with my life and yours, but they’re not the ones I’m concerned about,” he explained, and left the alley. He returned to his path to the Zellers’ and didn’t bother to check if Hannibal was following him. 

“Beverly,” Will said.

“Will, we’re so glad you could make it and...you brought a friend?” Beverly asked, more amused than angry (to Will’s disappointment). Will irritance rose with the knowledge that Hannibal was definitely smiling behind him.

“Yes, I apologize for not giving you advanced notice,” Will said, still hoping against hope she’d send him away. He was disappointed again. Beverly welcomed them inside and took their coats. Will was barely surprised to see that even Hannibal’s muted disguise was still stately.

“This is Hannibal, he’s-,” Will began to lie but Hannibal cut him off.

“I am a fellow doctor of science. Please, call me Dr. Lecter,” Hannibal said.

“Welcome to our home, Dr. Lecter,” Beverly said, motioning down the hallway. 

“Pleasure,” Hannibal said, kissing Beverly’s hand.

“Will, your friend’s certainly amicable,” Beverly said, leading them to the dining room. “You’ll want to met my husband and coworker, Dr. Brian Zeller and his associate Dr. Jimmy Price.”

“Coworker?” Hannibal asked. Will felt his blood drain from his cheeks as Hannibal trotted over the thin ice of Beverly’s work status. It was clear from the sudden intensity in her posture that he’d struck a sensitive subject. She smoothed her dress, and before Will could find a way to change the topic of conversation, she answered him.

“Yes, my father was a doctor. As a child he taught me many things about the human body. There are times when I can be of assistance to my husband, so I offer my knowledge,” she explained, understating how often she contributed to the investigations. Will should have felt better after her answer, but the glint that remained in Hannibal’s eyes worried him.

Beverly opened the door into the dining room and called out to Price and Zeller. She motioned for Will and Hannibal to sit down, which they did. She sat at the head of the table, Will next to her, and Hannibal across from Will.

“Will!” Zeller said, nearly stumbling into the room in his haste. He was too focused on retying his tie to notice the unexpected guest. 

“Honey,” Beverly said, her tone too flat and rehearsed. “This is Dr. Lector.”

Zeller paused and looked up, appearing a little flustered. He glanced at Hannibal before composing himself and nodding graciously.

“Very nice to have you for dinner, sir,” he said, before turning too purposefully to give Beverly an awkward peck on the cheek. 

“Perhaps you could grab Jimmy?” Beverly asked. Zeller nodded quickly and left the room again with a momentary wave. A second later he returned with Price in tow, who was quickly tucking in his shirt.

“Jimmy. Brian,” Will greeted them.

“Will, took you long enough to get your way over here,” Jimmy said. “I swear that king is working you to death.”

“Better to be worked to death than put to death,” Will said, sensing his comment soften some of Hannibal’s stiff silence.

“Jimmy, this is Dr. Lecter,” Beverly explained. Hannibal nodded and Jimmy smiled back. “He’s a friend of Will’s.”

“Did you two meet in the palace?” Brian asked. Will opened his mouth to answer, but Hannibal was quicker.

“Yes. Will is the king’s personal guard, and I am his personal physician.” Hannibal said. 

“The king’s certainly got a lot of personal attendants,” Jimmy joked. 

“Think he has a personal attendant to cut his meats?” Brian asked. Jimmy laughed and Will cracked a smile even though he could feel Hannibal’s annoyance at having his ego be irritated.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Will said. “But I will say you’re not far from the truth.”

Will couldn’t stop himself from tilting his head to give Hannibal a sideways glance. He raised his eyebrows at him, but Hannibal returned his gaze with unamused ire. Will rather enjoyed the Price residence, so he decided he’d better defuse Hannibal’s vexation.

“His redesigning the city plan was all his own work, though,” Will said. “And that will certainly improve the situations of many people.”

“I did hear about that,” Jimmy said. “I agree. This city needs some more trees and flowers to lighten it up. It’s so gloomy and dreary all the time.”

“A park would be splendid for getting fresh air after hours in the work room,” Brian added.

“It would also be an ideal afternoon delight for any children,” Hannibal said. Will felt resentment ride up his throat at Hannibal’s directed intentions. “Are you and Beverly planning on extending your family tree in the near future?”

It was only a moment hesitation from Brian and a slight brush of Jimmy’s hand across his forehead, but it was enough for Hannibal to confirm what he already knew.

“We are hoping to bring a child into the world soon,” Beverly said in an attempt to save the situation. “Jimmy, help me with the food.”

Beverly stood up, and pulled Jimmy along by his elbow. Will fumed at Hannibal’s complete contentment after his calculated question. He felt himself glaring, but didn’t care enough to conceal it. Brian was abandoned in the disorienting silence fueled with emotions of unknown origins. He prided himself on being a bright individual and having capable social prowess, but he was very confused by the silent conversation he was missing between Hannibal and Will. He clear his throat and tried to revive the conversation.

“Do you have any children, Dr. Lecter?” Brian asked. Hannibal looked away from Will’s threatening gaze.

“I consider all my patients children, and I treat them as if they were my own flesh and blood,” he said. “But I do not have any biological children.”

“Is there a Mrs. Doctor Lector?” Brian asked, noticing Will’s scoff and Hannibal’s blatant satisfaction at his reaction.

“Not at the moment,” he said. “But it was only until recently that I began to truly consider the possibility of having a partner.”

“What changed your mind, Dr. Lector?” Will asked. Brian was confused by the animosity in his question, and wonder about its origin.

“I met someone who could understand my personal philosophies. Understand my point of view. See the world through my own eyes, although perhaps not willingly,” Hannibal said.

“To see the world through someone else’s eyes requires the viewer truly know that someone, know them from their outer skin to their darkest secret,” Will said. “Are you ready for that commitment?”

Relief flooded over Brian as Jimmy and Beverly broke the tension in the room with their return. Unfortunately, the dinner continued in very much the same manner as the previous introductions, except for a few compliments from Hannibal to Beverly on her cooking. She thanked him gratefully, but couldn’t help noticing Will’s piqued expression at Hannibal’s comment.

Once they had finally survived dinner Will offered to help Beverly as if he had read her mind that she wanted to have a moment alone with him. Her instincts warned her against leaving Jimmy and Brian by themselves with Hannibal, especially after having witnessed dinner, but she decided it couldn’t be too harmful.

“Will, did you tell him about us?” Beverly asked once she and Will were safe from listening ears. Will raised his eyes at her in surprise.

“I wouldn’t reveal your secret to anyone, especially not him…” Will said. “He’s just perceptive.”

“Like you?” Beverly asked, taking Will’s plates.

“Not like me,” Will said, more forcefully than he intended and Beverly noticed.

“Should we be worried?” Beverly asked, her eyes drifting to the dining room door. Will shook his head.

“He won’t tell anyone. I won’t let him,” he said. He was disappointed to see his good-intentioned words only deepened Beverly’s frown.

“Will...have you been feeling alright?” She asked slowly, giving herself time to carefully choose her next words. “I know you were having nightmares-”

“Jack told you,” Will stated. She nodded and continued.

“He told me you were having nightmares before, and I don’t know if they’ve stopped, but ever since you went to the palace...I don’t know,” she turned away and set a plate down before pulling her thoughts together. She turned back to face Will. “You seem angrier and closed-off. I don’t think working for the king is good for you.”

She waited for Will’s reply, expecting a firm denial. If it was anyone but Will, Brian or Jimmy, she’d most likely be given a dismissal of her concern as being mere female emotions clouding her vision. Her worry would just be used as another reason for why she belonged in the kitchen. Yet, she couldn’t let that shake her and she would always remind herself of her deal with Jimmy that he’d take care of keeping the kitchen and bedrooms clean, and she’d keep the library ordered and the work room sterile.

“Working in the palace is slowly corrupting my soul,” Will said finally. His answer didn’t reassure Beverly. “I feel like I’m losing myself and my purpose to the fine wines and cravats. But I can’t escape it. Even now, even when I leave the gates, it follows me. It trails me like a wolf, always at the back of my mind. My morals are becoming clouded, dissolving in the London haze. 

“And now the king is making plans to travel to his palace in the countryside, and of course I’ll have to be going with him. From there, I’ll be completely cut off from London, and you, Jimmy, Brian, Jack, and what remains of my sanity. Months trapped with the king. I’m afraid of what it will do to me, who I’ll be when I return.”

Will could see Beverly’s concern etched across her features, and in her alert stance.

“Then you can’t go,” Beverly said, her patient demeanor shed for one of anger and defiance. “Quit. Leave. If you’re worried about consequences then run away to France! I have an acquaintance who studied at a French university and knows people, I could help you find somewhere to go.”

“I can’t,” Will said. Beverly knit her eyebrows together.

“Why not? You said it yourself, he is going to hurt you. Maybe not physically, but certainly psychologically,” Beverly said.

“I need to stay because I need the resources that this position affords me,” he said. Beverly shook her head.

“You’ve always been able to get along fine. I don’t see what’s changed,” Beverly said, crossing her arms.

“It’s for an investigation. The Ripper investigation. But perhaps something even more,” Will said. Beverly noticed him pause to contemplate something. She waited for him to speak, looking as if he knew exactly what he wanted to ask but hated it. He ran his hands through his hair. Beverly could see the pressure hiding in the strands of hair sticking out from the other smoothly combed down ones, in the hurried polish of his shoes, and in the thinness of his face. He must not be eating regularly.

“Beverly, I need your help,” Will said. Her arms loosened, and thoughts of the French countryside filled her head. “It’s dangerous, and it’s essential no one know what you’re doing, but I need you to look into the death of the previous king. I think there’s more to his death that someone is working hard to cover up. Any notes from the doctors or morgue. You could start with Joseph Gardner. He’s deceased and his notes were stolen, or given to the Commander at the time. But some of his knowledge might be floating around. I-”

“Will.” Beverly interrupted. Will stopped and looked at her. She saw her own worry reflected and intensified in his eyes, so she stiffened her back and plastered her determination onto her face. The reflection eased slightly, but it was enough to convince her of what she had to do.

“You don’t have to suffer alone,” she said. “You are not the only one who cares about justice in this city. I will look into it.”

“Thank you,” Will said, his relief flooding over into his words making them sound breathy and strained. “There’s one more thing I need to ask of you, it’s much easier.”

“Okay.”

“I’m hanging on the edge of a cliff right now, the abyss awaiting me miles below, and I feel my fingers losing their grip,” Will paused, as if trying to suppress his terror at the thought of falling towards whatever doom he was imagining below. “I need a hand. Some source of sanity. Please, send me a letter once I’ve gone. If I don’t answer, then tell Jack. And mostly importantly, if you find incriminating information, do not write it in any letters.”

“I won’t,” Beverly said, her face turn down for a moment in agitation. “I’ll send you letters, but you sound very concerned. There’s no way I can convince you to turn away from this?”

Will shook his head and said with soft pain, “No.”

They both became lost in their thoughts, and wondered how and what they’d gotten themselves into. There was a need to communicate but there were no words to quite express how they felt at the moment. The closest would be “trapped” but “adrift” would also qualify. Will easily understood her taciturn expression.

A knock on the kitchen door made Beverly jump, which Will instinctively jumped at. She brushed her skirt down, and Will nodded that he had nothing more to say.

“Brian?” She asked, and he opened the door.

“Are you guys alright in here? You were taking a little long,” he said.

“Just finishing,” she said. Brian glanced nervously at Will then spoke to Beverly.

“We’re having some...conversational difficulties,” Brian said, then faced Will. “I hope you’re not too offended?”

“Not at all,” Will replied, his reserved demeanor from dinner returning. “Hannibal is a frustrating conversationalist.”

Brian straightened his collar but didn’t move away from the doorway.

“I’ve been meaning to ask...I just, um, noticed during...dinner…” Brian trailed off. He shut the door again and took a step into the room. “Is Hannibal your...um partner?”

Will’s first instinct was shock, which then melted into some mixture of unclear strong emotion. Finally the chaotic emotions fixated on anger, as they tend to do. Will breathed down his ire, and stopped himself from distancing his friends.

“We are far from that. We are not even friends. Our relationship is purely one of mutual benefit, but void of emotional attachment,” Will explained, his tone sharper than usual. He could see Brian brush it off as merely too much pressure from work in combination with too much wine.

“I live with two emotionally attached men,” Beverly said. “And I don’t think your relationship with Dr. Lector is strictly apathetic.”

Will bristled at her words.

“Hannibal could be a source of sanity for you Will. Even just friendship,” Beverly pointed out, her words earnest. Will focused on the table leg.

“Have you told Hannibal about the way you’re feeling?” Beverly asked. Will snapped his head up.

“I am not discussing any of this with him,” Will said, then took a moment to compose himself. “I understand you’re just trying to help, but he is not the answer to my troubles. Anyway, they’re probably wondering what’s taking us so long.”

Will stepped past Beverly and Brian who glanced at each other.

Beverly watched Will don his casual demeanor once more when they reentered the room. Her eyes followed him as he stared down Hannibal, who returned it. Brian and Jimmy didn’t notice anything, however, even after they left the table she couldn’t stop thinking of what fueled Will’s intense emotion towards his supposed friend. Moreover, it was impossible for her to divulge if their silent conversation was between enemies or lovers.

Jimmy and Brian’s explanations of their findings back in the workroom blended into the background and she continued to study Will and Hannibal across the corpse. Jimmy conveyed their discovery that the first two victims had been killed by the same weapon, but Joseph Gardner had had his throat ripped out and lungs lacerated. Brian held up the fur samples collected from the body and told them how the fur was too old to have come from an animal but they placed it as wolf fur. If Beverly had been paying closer attention, she may have pointed out that they’d compared it to a Grey Wolf sample from the Royal Academy of Sciences Mammology Collection. Both matched exactly in color, length, and thickness. Unfortunately Beverly was preoccupied by the more apparent mystery before her.

Will asked a question. Beverly didn’t hear his words but caught each detail of how Hannibal turned his head to give Will his entire focus. When Will responded with less than animosity to one of Hannibal’s comments, Beverly noted how his back straightened out and his eyes crinkled with satisfaction. She assumed Will hadn’t intended his reaction because as soon as he sensed Hannibal’s joy, his expression became strained. Meanwhile, Jimmy and Brian were still rambling about the incisions made to resew the skin where the livers had been taken from.

Terror filled Beverly when Will and Hannibal began to say their farewells and she’d had yet to fully comprehend the situation. She stomached her curiosity for now, knowing she’d have the chance to ask Will when he wasn’t with Hannibal. Although that meant either waiting for him to return in three months time, or asking him in a letter. For the moment, she gave him a tight hug.

“Don’t let go,” he whispered in her ear.

“I won’t,” she said.

“Don’t be a stranger, Will! And don’t work yourself to death!” Jimmy joked. Will nodded with a faint smile. Hannibal thanked Brian for the hospitality and Beverly for the dinner.

“It was truly exquisite,” he said. “You must let me cook for you next time.”

“Or perhaps we could just have tea next time,” Will said.

“Next time,” Beverly said as they stepped out the door. Will tilted a final goodbye with his hand and walked down the steps.  
“Next time,” Hannibal said as Will departed. He tilted his hat and followed Will. Beverly was left with the sickly feeling that Will was closer to the edge than he’d let on and that he’d already slipped away from her grasp.


	10. A Hunting Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will go on a hunting trip as Will adjusts to living in the countryside and meets old and new characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major major apologies for missing two updates in a row. I was on vacation. But to make it up to you here's an extra update with a long chapter (idk who allowed me to write this chapter. I had TOO much fun with it) so enjoy! Also here's a shout out to a reader (I don't want to say your name or anything if you're not comfortable with it) but thanks for giving me tips on how the proper titles of royalty etc.

Will was thankful that as soon as they were beyond the city limits, Hannibal stopped the royal procession to exit the carriage and mount a horse. From there, both he and Will rode horseback. His body was much sorer afterwards, but Will was certainly grateful for the fresh air. It felt as though the further they traveled from the city, the lighter the air became. Seeing the countryside once more after so many years in the city also eased Will’s mood. Hannibal’s mood was improved by Will’s rare encouraging of conversation between them.

His mood slowly fell away as they came within sight of the castle. It was even more immense than the city palace, likely because it was free of the confines of the city and had viable space to expand. Yet with its harsh stone ramparts and large fortified door it was much more austere and perhaps better suited to survive the dangers of the countryside. The interior proved to be as exquisitely furnished as the city palace’s was, but it was still a more rugged style. It was easy to tell from the many antlers that lined the walls between the tapestries that the king was a hunter. This castle also had many more fireplaces, all burning fiercely when they arrived.

After the horses were taken care of and Will assigned the guards to their respective duties needed to ensure the king’s safety, Will found his room. It was much smaller than the one in the city, its small size accentuated by the large rug that spanned the entirety of the floor. There was also a narrow window through which the forest peered at him. 

The grand dining room completed the style, with its pagan chandelier of antlers and ancient tapestries. However, at the heart of the room and the castle was the immense fireplace that towered over the head of the table, where Hannibal sat. It created the illusion that Hannibal sat on a throne of fire at the center of hell. Of course, the fire was essential to keeping the entire castle warmed during the coldest dregs of winter.

It was at dinner that Hannibal announced that the weather was ideal for fox hunting, and that preparations should be made immediately for a hunting party. Will wasn’t particularly fond of hunting, however he was eager to explore the vast wilderness that encompassed the castle. The next morning he detoured to the stables to ready his and Hannibal’s horses. The horses’ saddles and equipment had already been attached when he arrived. The girl who had done this now had her hands around Will’s horse’s muzzle and was whispering something to it. Her back was turned to Will. He remained silent, trying to catch a snippet of her conversation with the horse. 

“What are you asking him?” Will asked, hoping he sounded friendly. She jumped, looking like a startled deer. She took a step back from the glossy-black horse, but now Will could see her pale and pretty youthful face dotted with freckles.

“I was asking him if he enjoyed the apple, sir,” she said. “I hope it's no trouble. I didn’t mean to cause any.”

“No trouble at all,” Will said, slowly approaching the horse. “He had a long day yesterday, he deserves an apple. Maybe two.”

The girl nodded.

“Unfortunately, he needs to work again today. But perhaps he can have an apple when he returns,” Will said. “What’s your name?”

“Abigail,” she said, looking up suddenly, as if terrified of why Will wanted to know her name.

“If you have any more apples, feel free to let him have another when we get back,” Will said. “Thank you, Abigail.”

He took the reins of his horse and Hannibal’s white steed. As he led them out of the stable, he happened to peer into the dog kennels. At the moment he did, the kennel keeper glanced up and they locked eyes. Will’s attention immediately sharpened at the recognition of his face. He realized that the face belonged to a back of the head seen exiting Hannibal’s room.

It was unclear whether or not the kennel keeper recognized him in return, or if he was aware that Will knew him, but he looked away and returned to his dogs. Will was left shaken, and still trying to understand how his newfound knowledge fit with the other pieces he already had to form the big picture.

Being part of the hunting party was like a sailor returning to sea after a yearlong shore leave. The routines had been ingrained into his muscle memory, but his mind was still struggling to remember how to think properly in the environment. He fought off a vague sense of nausea as he sat stiffly on his horse.

“There is nothing to be anxious about,” Hannibal said, his long legs a perfect length for his limber steed. “Hunting comes naturally to you, that is why you are such an asset for the royal guard. Only now you’re hunting a different prey.”

“Foxes are no less sly,” Will said, eyeing the forest as if expecting a fox to rear its glossy red head any moment.

“But that is why bloodhounds are needed,” Hannibal said.

“Am I your bloodhound?” Will asked.

Will forgot his question when the hounds were brought out. His eye caught one particular foxhound, who was slightly trailing behind the others. As he watched, he noticed the dog didn’t put weight on one foot. Impulsively Will spurred his horse forward to the man who was holding the dogs on leashes.

“Are you in charge of these dogs?” He asked. The man looked up in bewilderment and shook his head. 

“That’s the kennel keeper,” he explained. “I just hold them until the hunt begins.”

“Have you noticed that one is injured?” Will asked.

“Indeed,” Hannibal said, pulling his horse up behind Will’s. “It cannot walk on its foot. What happened to it?”

Meanwhile, Will dismounted his horse and bent down to the dog. He picked it up lightly and examined its foot. It whimpered and pulled it away. Will frowned.

“I expect we’ll have to ask the kennel keeper when we return,” Will said, not noticing the dog’s thick hair was shedding all over his dark clothing. “Until then, this dog’s foot must be tended to. These are finely bred animals, we don’t want to lose any unnecessarily.”

A servant stepped up to take the dog. Will held onto the dog, its heartbeat warming his chest, until he realized the servant wanted to take the dog back. He carefully passed the dog to the servant, and only then took a moment to brush some dog hair off. He glanced around before returning to his horse.

“I have excellent hound experts, they will surely take care of him,” Hannibal assured Will. Will didn’t respond, only stared at the woods with a pouted lip.

“If we are all ready, shall we begin the hunt?” Hannibal asked. Will nodded and the foxhounds were released.

He and Hannibal followed after the pack, and Will had a recollection of struggling to keep up with his father as he chased after the foxhounds. He remembered how he hated hunting as a boy, and couldn’t say his opinion had changed much since then. Even so, the same adrenaline rush of galloping through the trees made his cheeks flush.

The pace of the hounds changed as they caught the scent of a fox. The hunting party followed them deeper into the forest. Will was vaguely aware of other members of the party, but it felt like it was comprised of only him and Hannibal who was leading the group of people. Will’s hands gripped the reins but his mind quickly lost interest in the path they were traveling. His horse took control and followed the rest of the pack. Will had become preoccupied by Hannibal. He rode with the same grace that he fenced with. It was as if his royal blood naturally gifted him with a refinement that influenced every motion he made. His body was bent over the horse’s neck, yet his muscles were relaxed and flowed with the rhythm of the horse.

Suddenly, he tilted his head back and locked eyes with Will. His heart fluttered but he couldn’t look away. His reins started to slip from his hands, and a disconnect between himself and his horse threatened to throw him off. He quickly pulled his senses back and snapped the reins. His horse’s pace quickened and soon he was riding beside Hannibal.

“Your horse is much quicker than its lean figure would suggest,” Hannibal said between breaths. 

“Even if he isn’t royal bred?” Will asked, not noticing the smirk he said it with.

“Makes him all the more impressive,” Hannibal said.

“It’s one thing to be fast,” Will said, his thighs burning from bouncing up and down with his horse. “But endurance is a much more valued skill.”

“Then let us test that,” Hannibal said, leaning forward and urging his horse faster. Will wrapped his reins tighter around his hands and also leaned forward until his chest was touching his horse’s neck.

The wind tousled his curls except for those which his sweat had matted to his forehead. He looked forward, a bit annoyed that Hannibal didn’t seem to even be breathing hard. Will knew from the warmth in his face that his cheeks were flushed. He dismissed it as only a product of physical exertion. 

The hunting party rammed to a halt as they reached the hounds, which were circled around a fox. The fox hissed at the dogs, its back arched and its fur standing on end. Will took deep breaths and tried to steady his pounding heart. Hannibal aimed his gun, and released a deafening boom through the forest. Will’s hands clenched and his legs tensed around his horse at the noise. The killing had always been the worst part of the hunt for him. Hannibal’s calm composure hadn’t shaken once during the deed.

Will looked away as a servant stuffed the still fox into a bag. Hannibal watched closely until he noticed Will’s discomfort. He rode his horse next to Will’s.

“Hunting is a necessary job,” he said. “Foxes plague this part of the country, ravaging chicken coops and terrorizing livestock.”

“Perhaps, but must the method of death be so barbaric?” Will asked, remembering asking his father the same question as a small boy. 

“Barbaric?” Hannibal said. “Is it not noble to give the animal the chance to escape, the opportunity to prove itself with such high stakes? There are more brutal and slow ways to die. This is more than the pests deserve.”

“And who decides who deserves what?” Will asked, turning his horse to return to the castle. Hannibal stayed beside him, the rest of the hunting party following behind. “Isn’t that God’s jurisdiction?”

“And I am the head of the Anglican Church,” Hannibal said. “I believe that makes it mine.”

“You mustn’t let Archbishop Verger hear that,” Will said. “He’d likely call for your head.”

“I’m sure he’d prefer to have me slowly roasted on an open flame as a heretic,” Hannibal said. “But he doesn’t have that power.”

“You sound confident,” Will said, gazing up at the castle. The gray stones were peaking through the spaces between the trees.

“I have good reason to be,” Hannibal said. He also paused when he saw the castle growing nearer. “We’ve returned. We must not have ventured that far. Will, I hope you’d join me for dinner?”

Hannibal seemed disappointed when Will answered that he would first unsaddle the horses and check in on the injured hound, but he allowed him to go. Will was pleased to find Abigail in the stable. She smiled when she saw him, although he wasn’t sure if it was because of him or the horses. Either way, he returned the smile.

“They worked hard today,” he said, handing her the reins.

“They seem tired,” she said, walking the horses toward their stalls. Will followed her.

“Have you always worked with horses?” he asked. Abigail nodded.

“My father was a grain farmer and I always loved the workhorses. We needed more money to pay our Lord and keep our land, so I started working at the stables for him. Eventually I also started working here over the winter.”

“Is your father here too?” Will asked.

“No, we’re not allowed to leave our Lord’s property. I was only allowed to come because the king pays so well.”

Will watched her delicately brush the saddle crease from his horse’s fur. Dirt from the coat fell to the floor.

“That must get lonely,” he said. She shrugged.

“A little, but I have the horses to keep me company,” she said. “Honestly, it’s much better than working for the Lord.”

“Who is your Lord?” Will asked. Abigail glanced up at him, her wide eyes gauging Will.

“You must forgive my comment,” she said, dismissing his question. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Will said. He wanted to keep prying, but Abigail had turned her back to him. “I’m afraid I have dinner plans with His Majesty, but I hope I’ll see you soon.”

Will left the stable irritated at himself and eager to vent his frustration on someone else. He remembered the hurt hound and made his way to the kennel. The dogs were mostly sleeping but a few awoke to bark at Will. Their barking summoned the kennel master, who snapped a stick across their cages. They whimpered and crawled to the back of their cages.

“Apologies,” he said, lowering the stick. “How may I help you?”

The man was most definitely the one from the palace. Being so close to him cleared all Will’s doubts. His clothes were not as regal as before, and they accentuated his slim figure which Will hadn’t noticed before. Now that he had shed his city clothing, he had also shed a layer of normalcy. His black beady eyes analyzed Will with a degree of savagery. The man unsettled Will.

“Sir William Graham,” Will said. The man raised his eyebrows slightly, feigning surprise.

“Randall Tier, kennel master,” he said.

“Exactly who I wanted to talk to,” Will said. “As you no doubt know, the king went hunting today and we were dismayed to find that one of his prized hunting dogs was injured.”

Randell didn’t reply. He patiently waited, thus forcing Will to directly accuse him. Will was happy to oblige him.

“Did you injure the dog?” Will asked.

“Forgive me, Sir Graham, but you must understand that I allow the dogs to play with each other to keep them stimulated. Once in awhile they injure themselves.”

Will narrowed his eyes.

“Then perhaps you should do a better job of inspecting them before sending them to His Royal Majesty,” Will said. “I hope that the next time I visit, that dog will be walking again.”

“His Majesty won’t be disappointed,” he said.

Will turned with a flourish that would have made Hannibal proud. He returned to the castle, his mind still wrapped around the kennel master. He was surprised to find Hannibal absent when he returned to their connected chambers. Then he noticed the handwritten note left on his bed. It was from Hannibal and explained that he was in the kitchen preparing dinner for them. Will should have guessed. He put the note down on his desk before noticing another letter. He paused and then opened it.

_ Dear Will, _

_ I hope your journey to the countryside was pleasant. I’ve begun looking into the matter we discussed at our last meeting, however I regret to inform you that I have had little success at the time I am writing this letter. But I will continue my investigation. _

_ Meanwhile, do write to me about the countryside. Is the weather any better there? Have you gotten any snow? _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Beverly _

Will read the letter over again, as if it would read differently a second time. He dipped his quill in ink and began a reply. It was briefer than he’d intended, a few sentences about the weather, lack of snow, and familiar fog that also penetrated the countryside. He sealed the letter and consoled himself that at least Hannibal hadn’t censored his letters here. 

As he dropped the letter off to be delivered, his stomach ached from hunger. Having nothing better to do, he made his way to the kitchen. It was empty when he arrived, except for Hannibal. He looked up from arranging the plates of food to greet Will.

“Is dinner close to ready?” Will asked.

“Forgive me. I hope you are not too hungry,” Hannibal said. Will shook his head as he stepped into the room.

“I’m fine. I was just checking on the king, as is my job.”

“You can’t lie to me,” Hannibal said, teasing Will with his smile. “Your mouth is salivating.”

Will’s hand snapped to his lips, which felt normal to him. He frowned but couldn’t deny the food smelled and looked appetising. 

“What meat is that?” Will asked, debating whether or not he dared eat it. The smile Hannibal gave him was disconcerting. 

“I asked the cook for a slaughtered pig,” Hannibal answered. Will tried to remember if he heard anything about a servant disappearing, but he couldn’t recall anything.

“I should taste it,” Will said, partly joking. “In case it’s been poisoned.”

“Will, I hope you did not mean to offend my cooking” Hannibal said, his voice sounding deadly. Will smiled, knowing he wasn’t serious.

“It wouldn’t be the first time cooking has killed someone,” Will said, not quite meaning to refer to the Ripper murders. He spoke up again, quickly brushing away the comment, “If you are almost done, then I will have the butler prepare the table.”

“Yes, I will only be a few minutes,” Hannibal said, and Will left to find a butler.

Once dinner was ready and the table set, Will had to admit Hannibal’s dinner was delicious. He hated that he wanted seconds. It was strange because he’d thought uncharacteristically often of his childhood today, and the meal also brought back memories of eating with his father and mother. It put him in a better mood, and Hannibal noticed and decided to take advantage of it.

“You had a sense of familiarity about yourself today,” Hannibal said. “Was I wrong to assume that you were inexperienced in hunting?”

Will put his fork down, his appetite disappearing. The coincidences of the day suddenly didn’t seem so coincidental anymore. He remembered revealing his father’s identity to Freddie.

“My father took me once or twice as a child,” he explained. 

“He taught you well,” Hannibal said. “Although, it helps that you naturally have instincts for it.”

“I wouldn’t call it natural instincts,” Will said.

“Is it not the same instinct you use to hunt criminals in the city?” Hannibal asked. Will shook his head.

“That’s different. That requires adopting a certain mindset. All that hunting requires is detachment from conscience,” Will said. Hannibal sipped his wine before answering. Will waited for him to undermine his logic.

“Hunting is a sport, invented for a purpose but also to provide enjoyment,” Hannibal said. “Have you ever considered allowing yourself that satisfaction? You may find that it will become even easier for you. Surely your father understood that.”

“My father understood many things, but he never taught me to kill for pleasure,” Will said.

“What did he teach you?” Hannibal asked. Will used this question to calculate how much Freddie had revealed to Hannibal, and to what degree Hannibal was aware of what Will knew.

“The typical skills. Reading, writing, arithmetic. The usual values a parent instills in a child. As a bookkeeper, he was particularly fond of organization and handling money wisely. I fear I didn’t learn either very well,” Will said, the corner of his mouth peeking up. Hannibal swirled his wine glass, a sign that he had knowledge beyond what he was revealing.

“As my personal guard it is essential that I can put my full trust into you, Will, and I do not think it is fair of you to lie to me.” Hannibal said, taking some satisfaction in his incrimination of Will’s parentage. 

“I’m afraid I don’t grasp your implications,” Will said, allowing himself some pleasure from frustrating Hannibal.

“You’ve been hiding from me that your father was Lord Graham,” Hannibal said. Will’s mouth dropped open in feigned offense.

“Hiding?” He asked, amused by the chance to fluster Hannibal. “You never inquired about my origins. Furthermore, I never lied. If you know Lord Graham, then you certainly know how he was stripped of his titles. After that he became a bookkeeper. The bookkeeper was the one who raised me. Lord Graham is little more than a memory,” Will said, watching Hannibal’s reactions to his explanation closely. He was expecting shock, even anger. Instead what he saw was intrigue.

“Yet you seemed to have retained some of the lessons taught by Lord Graham,” Hannibal pointed out. “You have a knowledge of hunting and you have an air of dignity, no matter how hard you attempt to hide it, that can only be inherited by years of ancestral refinement.”

Will tried to drown out Hannibal’s words with a deep sip of wine. He put the glass down and met Hannibal’s fixed gaze from across the table.

“That didn’t make much difference to the aristocracy when they banished us from their ranks,” he said, any amusement having suddenly turned cold. “It didn’t make them anymore eager to welcome me back into their ranks.”

Hannibal tilted his head. Will was irritated that it was that comment that sparked Hannibal’s surprise, and he couldn’t understand why.

“I couldn’t imagine you enjoying court as an aristocrat. This bitterness is uncharacteristic of you,” Hannibal said. “You are not particularly fond of the nobles.”

“That is true. Not being an aristocrat is not the source of my aggression,” Will said. Hannibal remained silent, encouraging Will to continue. “It is the idea of nobility that bothers me. And what being stripped of it did to my parents. The dramatic measures my father had to take to keep our family afloat. The toll it took on my mother especially. She was shunned by her own family. When she fell ill, there was little my father could do. And I was powerless.”

Will finished, his chest aching from wounds that never properly healed. He watched Hannibal, whose expression had once again shifted. Now the firelight made his eyes dance, as if they were aflame with emotion. Will hated that he couldn’t tell if it was anger or amusement. He hadn’t realized how late it had become, and the vast darkness of the room created a void in which only he and Hannibal existed in the candlelight.

The atmosphere made Will feel trapped, and he had the sudden urge to flee. His feet tensed for flight, but his arms gripped the seat. His eyes remained locked with Hannibal’s. Even though there was a part of him that yelled to leave, leave the castle, the countryside, the job, England, and Hannibal, there was a stronger part of him that refused to move. If anything, it teased Hannibal onwards. It dared him to continue the conversation.

“There is a difference between being powerless and refusing to be powerful,” Hannibal said, his eyes dangerously tinged with red.

“Refusal stems from what one intends to do with that power,” Will said. “A person is much more inclined to use power if it is a matter of giving life. Taking life is entirely different.”

“Is it?” Hannibal asked, causing Will’s thoughts to stumble. He continued, “Death is just as sacred as life, and oftentimes just as necessary. All too often a mother must sacrifice her own life for her child to be born.”

“And I suppose you’ll say it is an essential duty for us to weed out the pesky foxes?” Will said. Hannibal smiled.

“Yes, but it does not have to be merely a duty. If it is so entrenched in our lives, why not gain some pleasure from it?” Hannibal asked.

“Extreme excesses may corrupt morals after long exposure,” Will said, slowly rising from the table. “But we are not all as susceptible.”

“I fear we’ve run out of wine,” Will said. “I will get us more.”

He took his glass with him as he left the room. When he returned, Hannibal was already in his bedroom. He placed the wine on the table, his glass already filled.

“It will snow soon,” Hannibal said, walking closer to fill his own glass. “I think we should go for a ride tomorrow.”

Will nodded absentmindedly. He wondered how long it would take for his letter to reach Beverly.

“If there isn’t anything else you need I think I will retire,” Will said, finishing his glass. Hannibal followed his hands as they placed the empty glass down. His lips formed a disappointed pout, but he let him go.

The last glass of wine was just beginning to haze Will’s thought processes when he returned to his room. He struggled to tear off his waistcoat. As he maneuvered to the bed, he glanced towards the desk and the pile of papers under which he had hidden Beverly’s letter. From the bed the pile seemed to be as he had left it, and so he fell asleep. His sleep was still troubled, but that was one worry that didn’t bother him.


	11. An Assassin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Sorry everyone, I had a mishap with this chapter and thanks to Gusiruli for pointing it out. I somehow flipflopped the location of a paragraph so this chapter was a little confusing. I've fixed it now and hopefully it makes more sense. Let me know if it still doesn't or if anything else wonky happens. Thanks!

_Twilight had fallen on the palace when he arrived. He adopted his disguise once more as he prepared to meet the king and ease into palace life. When he was informed that the king was currently in the countryside, he felt a moment of rage at the realization he was too late. He assured himself that he must simply be patient; there are other ways of catching prey. This needn’t be a hindrance, with cunning it may even become an opportunity. He accumulated himself to what would be his quarters for several months, until the king returned or was dead._

 

 

 

 

Hannibal and Will went riding several times over the course of the week. Each time Hannibal was somehow able to find a new route they hadn’t traveled yet. Will found himself enjoying the fresh air and scenery. Visiting Abigail afterwards was another added bonus, although he was still unable to learn anything more about her family. All the while he also kept a close eye on Randall Tier and the dogs.

Halfway through the week, he and Hannibal were eating breakfast. Hannibal always insisted on Will eating with him before they went riding. Will had finished the ham and eggs and was just about to ready the horses when a servant brought Hannibal the news from London. The messenger came every morning, but this morning Will decided to inquire about the goings on in London.

“Of course,” Hannibal said, handing him the paper. “You must be kept informed if you are to access any possible dangers.”

Will ignored Hannibal’s smug smile and skimmed the paper.

“There have been no new murders,” Will said, censoring _since we’ve been in the countryside._ Hannibal continued to smile at him from the other end of the table. The thought occurred to Will that both Hannibal and Randall Tier had left the city at the same time.

“You should be glad,” Hannibal said. “It means you’re doing your job well.”

A scoff rose in Will’s throat but he pushed it down. He had been struggling to do his job well for ages, and hadn’t had much success so far.

“I’ll go prepare the horses,” he said.

  


Beverly’s letter arrived at the end of the week. Will was disappointed to find its contents identical to the previous one. He wrote back an equally bland letter, even though he had desperately tried to find something to discuss with her. He supposed that was a good sign but it made him feel detached.

Hannibal found him just as he gave the letter to a servant to be mailed.

“Will, would you care to join me in a round of fencing?” he asked. Will noticed he had already dressed for the occasion, apparently assuming he’d accept the invitation. His immediate reaction was flight; the last thing he wanted was for Hannibal to have a chance to study his skills with a sword. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find a legitimate excuse and once again felt himself trapped in a corner. He nodded his head as he inwardly cursed himself to be more cautious going forward.

        The sight of servants awaiting the king in the gardens behind the castle heightened Will’s unease. He wasn’t sure if Hannibal had invited them for his own ego or to unnerve him. He felt their critical glances as he took off his coat and chose a fencing sword. He heard the soft swishes of a cape being taken off. Will looked up from his sword, keen that it was beginning to appear that he was purposely avoiding eye contact, and decided instead to inspect his surroundings. They stood near the hedge maze, where the gravel began. The ground was stone where they stood, a sturdy foundation to navigate on. The air was brisk enough to nip any weariness from Will’s eyes, but not frisky enough to be painful. He agreed with Hannibal, snow was on the way.

        He concluded that the conditions were suitable enough. Yet his agitation remained.

        “En garde” Hannibal said. Will heard the chime of a swinging pendulum, and allowed it to give him focus.

        “Pret,” a servant said. He examined Will and Hannibal then after a moment said, “Allez.”

        Will’s eyes locked with Hannibal’s, while still searching for weaknesses out of the corner of his eye. Hannibal’s sharp gaze was distracting, but Will was unable to find any soft spots in his impeccable stance anyway. A dab of doubt teased at Will, as he considered his own out of practice stance. All he could do was try to ground himself and prepare.

        The high chime of a gong announced the beginning. Immediately, Hannibal pressed forward. He danced lightly on his toes. With each curve of his attack, Will stopped it midway through but not without losing ground. The sight of the marble statue which marked the boundary of the ring made Will change to an offensive strategy.

        On Hannibal’s next lunge, Will saw an opportunity. He blocked his attack then quickly twisted his wrist into offense. For a moment, he almost saw a victory within his reach. Before he could score a touch, however, Hannibal deflected his sword. As Hannibal jabbed at him, Will sidestepped the blade. He almost caught Hannibal off guard with this move, but he parried it at the last moment.

        Hannibal’s head shone lightly with perspiration. On the other hand, a cool fat sweat drop crawled along Will’s hairline despite the early winter weather. Will weighed his options of either continuing the match in the same way and waiting patiently for Hannibal to reveal a weakness, or putting in the rest of his energy to cut short Hannibal’s time to test his skills.

His sword made his decision for him, and his hand began to quickly jump between defense and offense. It was risky, but he finally saw his opportunity to curl his sword around Hannibal’s in order to flick it out of his hands. Unfortunately, Hannibal stepped closer which distorted the angle of their swords. Hannibal continued moving closer until his sword was in the ideal position to disarm Will, who felt his own sword loosen from his grip. A wave of relief and frustration hit him as his sword flipped through the air and landed with a metal clang on the stone a few feet away.

Hannibal looked at Will for a moment, making Will suddenly aware how little room there was between them. He could feel the light exhale from Hannibal’s mouth and had to fight back a shiver. Will was left no choice but to stand defenseless and uncomfortable until Hannibal finally lightly tapped his chest with his sword.

        “An impressive game,” Hannibal said. “You have a very unorthodox fighting style.”

        “You are a very experienced fencer,” Will said, turning away to pick up his sword.

        “Thank you,” Hannibal said. “Fencing is as much about the fluidity of the movement as it is about laying a touch on your opponent. I suppose you were not taught much about fluidity at the royal guards.”

        “We were taught to look for weaknesses and aim for deadly targets,” Will said. “And how to defend ourselves.”

        Hannibal nodded his head.

“I suppose I can’t convince you for a second round?” Hannibal asked. Will shook his head, putting away the fencing sword to pick up his real sword.

“I’m sure we could find someone else for you to fence,” Will said, eyeing the servants to see if any of them were hiding a fencing figure underneath their uniforms. “In the meantime, I have to do the daily perimeter check.”

Hannibal’s lower lip drooped enough to catch Will’s attention, but he didn’t pause. His arms comfortably slid into his coat sleeves and he reattached his sword to his waist. Then he stopped moving. Something felt off, something was suddenly wrong in the picture around him. He looked up and understood that one of the servants was slightly out of place. Stubble dotted his jawline and Will could see his feet were twitchy.

When Hannibal turned his back to the servant, he stepped out of his ranks and Will rushed forward. The servant raised a knife he’d had concealed in his coat. As he brought it down towards the king’s vulnerable back, Will unsheathed his sword and intercepted the blow. He knocked the knife out of the man’s hands and across the garden. The servant gasped at Will, shocked by the icy power in his paralyzing gaze. Will held his sword up to the man’s throat.

“Who hired you?,” he asked, keeping his sword and gaze steady.

“N-no one. I did it on my own,” he stuttered. Will eyes involuntarily hardened.

“You’re clearly not capable enough to try this on your own, you certainly wouldn’t have enough reason to,” he said. Then he asked again, his words slow and weighted, “Who hired you?”

The man shrunk under Will’s deadly stare, worsened by the king who was watching with amusement over Will’s shoulder. Suddenly the man pulled Will’s sword, slicing his own hands in the action, and nearly threw Will off balance enough to tumble forward. But Will caught himself and quickly followed the trail of blood from the man’s hands. The man was stumbling forward and Will understood what he was about to do, however before he could stop him the man pulled out a vial of dark purple liquid and drank it.

The man hunched over, clutching his throat and convulsing, until his eyes finally bugged out and he collapsed on the garden walkway. Will stood over him, scowling at the dead body. Hannibal came up behind him and put his hand on his shoulder.

“You saved my life,” he said, closely surveying Will.

“That is my job,” Will said, but he couldn’t keep the bitter taste in his mouth from seeping his words. Now that the moment had passed he scolded himself for his decisive action and wondered if he shouldn’t have just kept his eyes down for a second longer and let the king receive overdue justice. Yet perhaps he had stopped this assassination not for the king, but to save himself the satisfaction of bringing justice. He pushed this thought from his head. Hannibal didn’t seem bothered at all by the harsh undertones of Will’s words, or perhaps he didn’t notice the pained look on his face.

“It is unfortunate he took his own life,” Hannibal said, not sounding very remorseful.

“I’ll just have to investigate his connections some other way,” Will said. He glanced at Hannibal’s hand on his shoulder, then at Hannibal. “What do you intend to do with the body?”

A smirk appeared on his face, but he shook his head at the body.

“It’s been spoiled, no good to anyone,” he said. “Rather wasteful actually. I’ll just have the servants dispose of it.”

“I’d like to search it first,” Will said, relieved by Hannibal’s answer. He bent down and started shuffling through the man’s coat. He found nothing of significance, so he announced to Hannibal his plans to investigate further, starting with the other servants.

“An admirable idea. Just don’t be late for dinner,” Hannibal said. Will involuntarily glanced down at the body. He ordered a trusted guard to stay close to Hannibal while he took a few others with him to investigate the servants.

 

 

 

Will and the guards didn’t discover anything significant from the guards. None of the other servants seemed suspicious, just confused. It wasn’t until Will searched the man’s private quarters that he uncovered some unsurprising evidence in the form of a fallen wax seal, apparently from a letter. There was not a trace of the letter, but the seal belonged to G.R.D. It solidified his theory that, whoever G.R.D. was, they wanted the king dead.

He tucked the seal into his pocket, careful not to let the other guards notice it. If G.R.D. knew something condemning about the king’s past, Will wasn’t ready to expose them or expose his own possible suspicion of the king. Hannibal wasn’t surprised when he turned up empty-handed at dinner.

“I can’t help but feel partially responsible,” Hannibal said, while a servant taste tested his food. “If I had been more selective in choosing my servants I may have avoided this.”

“You’re plenty selective,” Will said. “This man was just very clever.”

 

 

 

The next morning Will tried to dissuade Hannibal from going riding. He stayed stubborn against Will’s protest of more assassination attempts. Will finally conceded and offered to go ready the horses. Hannibal was disappointed when he ordered another guard to watch him. When Will saw the sad expression on his face, he couldn’t stop himself from promising to be back soon.

Will hoped visiting Abigail would lift his spirits after he’d driven a man to kill himself the day before. At first he didn’t even see her. It wasn’t until he called out her name and he heard her suck in her breath quickly from in one of the stalls.

“Abigail?” He asked, peering into the stall. Abigail was brushing one of the horses. Her face was hidden.

“Will,” she said. Her words were forced and the fear in her voice made his stomach twist. “I didn’t expect you.”

“Is something wrong?” Will asked. Abigail finally looked at him, her eyes withdrawn. Will could see her working to properly phrase her thoughts. “Did I do something?”

Her eyes squinted for a second, as if shocked he’d even had to ask. She went back to brushing the fur off the horse.

“You almost killed someone yesterday,” she said, her voice barely louder than the brushing. Will’s lips thinned and he watched her steadily brush for a moment.

“No. I led a man to kill himself,” he said. “I stopped him from killing H-, the king. We were going to interrogate him but he poisoned himself before we could. We never found out if he was only an assassin or a spy for someone else.”

Abigail’s face turned a lighter shade of pale. She stopped brushing and just rested her hands on the horse.

“What would you have done if he was a spy?” She asked. Will considered her question.

“I would have tried to discover who he was spying for. Now we may never know,” he said. He scrutinized her movements and tried to infer what had motivated her adverse reaction. “Is there something else bothering you?”

“No. It’s- I guess you’re just a little different from who I thought you were,” she said.

“Different or worse?” Will asked, afraid of her answer. She looked up at him, having hidden her fear.

“Different,” she said. “Does learning someone is different from what they say they are make them a bad person?”

The question made Will pause. He had the strange sense she wasn’t attacking him but rather genuinely asking of her own curiosity. Or perhaps her own well-being.

“No. I don’t think it does,” he said. Her eyes softened slightly and Will felt a twinge of relief. Abigail nodded her head towards one of the other stalls.

“Your horses are already ready,” she said.

“Thank you,” Will said, stepping back.

“Enjoy your ride,” she said, her fear having dissipated for now.

 

 


	12. A Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to stop updating specifically on Fridays because I always forget, but instead just when I can during the week. Sorry for the inconsistency.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! Let me know what you think.

_ Failure. That’s all he could think as he knelt before his altar. The candles made the Dragon appear to dance with fury at the failure of the assassin. He had been lucky no one had traced it to him. The Dragon had been protecting him and he couldn’t fail him again. Not when there was so much at stake. The entire future of his country, all relying on him. This would take more cunning than he’d anticipated. But the Dragon was powerful and knowledgeable, and knew more than a mortal king. He knew that the most effective attacks come from within. He knew his prey would return to England and till then he must begin carefully setting his trap. _

 

 

It wasn’t long until snow finally came. The white flecks smothered the grassy fields and strangled the leaves from the trees. Hannibal’s rides with Will still occurred but became less frequent. Will received more letters from Beverly, but their correspondence was unchanging except now they could discuss the snow.

The empty letters from Beverly, combined with the increased sense of entrapment brought about by the fallen snow, made Will feel antsy. There hadn’t been any more assassination attempts but ever since the first one Will had been contemplating it. He couldn’t ignore that both the unsettling Randall Tier and mysterious G.R.D. had followed Hannibal into the countryside. 

Finally on a day when Hannibal was preoccupied with writing new legislature, Will was able to slip away. He snuck to the kennels and the kennel master’s private quarters. Both were empty when he arrived; he’d timed it so Tier was taking the dogs on a walk. He checked that no one was nearby and quietly closed the door behind him.

First he searched the kennels but found nothing. He turned his attention to Tier’s private quarters. Will recoiled when he opened the door. Tier gave off the impression of being excessively neat and put together but his room was a jumbled mess of chaos. All semblance of adhering to societal standards of cleanliness were gone. It strangely smelled stronger of dogs than the kennels. There was only one window that let in a thin stream of light. The room vaguely reminded Will of a bear’s den, piled high with assorted things to make a crude barrier around the walls.

He was still careful to not displace the mess as he searched. Will didn’t get the sense that it was a calculated mess but he refused to chance it. It was difficult searching through all the useless piles. He didn’t find anything convicting or revealing. He was nearly done when he heard a dog bark in the distance. Will froze and put down the rusty cup he had been inspecting from the table. He started picking his way back to the door when he suddenly spotted the familiar brown bag that Hannibal had given Tier at the palace.

The dog barking got louder as he hurried to the bag. He had no way to conceal the bag, and by now he knew he’d have no way to get past Randall Tier without being spotted. Just as the kennel doors were being opened, he rushed to the window and tossed the bag outside. He heard the dogs rushing around and Randall yelling them back into their cages. He took a deep breath and stepped back into the kennel.

“Randall,” he said. Randall looked up suddenly. He glanced between Will and his room.

“Sir Graham,” he said straightening up. “Were you in my quarters?”

“Forgive me, I was looking for you,” Will lied. Tier nodded but Will wasn’t sure he believed him. “I came to check up on the wounded dog.”

“Of course,” Tier said, turning to the cages. He pointed to the third cage down. “The brown dog. You’ll find his paw has fully healed.”

Will kneeled down to peer into the cage. Tier had spoken truthfully for the dog was chasing its own tail, no limp visible. 

“Impressive,” Will said, being careful to keep voice calmer than he felt.

“Thank you,” Randall said, “I’m glad you found what you were looking for.”

Will shot a look at Randall. He stood up, but Randall was still taller than him by a few inches. Even so, he looked unflinchingly at the man.

“Indeed,” Will said finally turning away. He could feel Randall’s fiery gaze as he left.

“I’m sure the king will be pleased,” he called after Will. The comment bothered Will because he was sure there was a threat of some sort hidden in his words. Will hoped that the risk had been worth it when he walked around back to retrieve the bag.

He then took it back into the castle and he locked himself in an empty room so he could examine it. The room had two gaping windows and its walls were adorned with the mounted heads of animals and one stuffed Wildcat. A bearskin rug warmed the floor. The many watching eyes in the room made Will uncomfortable, but he shook the feeling off. 

He emptied the contents of the bag onto the table. It was much emptier than he had been hoping, but it was still fulfilling. There were a few scattered coins and some clumps of bloody fur. It was clear that the bag had been filled with coins, a bribe of some kind perhaps. The clumps of fur connected Randall to the murder of Joseph Gardner, especially because the fur looked almost identical to those found at the scene. He decided he’d send a sample to Beverly to discover whether or not the fur matched. 

Knowing it’d take a while for the letter to send and for Beverly to analyze the fur, Will relieved his impatience by visiting Abigail again later in the week. He also didn’t overlook the fact that the stables were next to the kennels. Not wanting to make Abigail question his reason for visiting, Will started their conversation as usual. After they’d talked for a while and Abigail was relaxed, he asked her about Randall Tier.

She paused like a startled deer, and Will had to wonder why she was so taken aback. He’d tried hard not to make the question deviate from their conversation too much, he hadn’t thought it sounded particularly peculiar and certainly not shocking. After the moment, Abigail regained control of her expressions and changed it to one of indifference.

“I don’t know much about him,” she said. Will was keenly aware of the forced steadiness of her voice. “He keeps to himself.”

“Have you ever talked to him?” Will asked. 

“No,” Abigail replied, too quick and sure. “I don’t go to the kennels and he never comes here.”

Will was sure he hadn’t mentioned that Randall worked in the kennels.

“But you’ve seen him about?” Will asked. Abigail nodded and Will could tell she was close to changing the conversation.

“Well, yes. The kennels are adjacent.”

“How long has he been working at the castle?” Will asked, daring to pry a little deeper.

“I’m not sure,” Abigail said, but after seeing a tinge of suspicion in Will’s eyes added, “but I think he came around the time the king arrived. He may have been in the travel party from London.”

That agreed with Will’s theory about Randall Tier, however he was confident he would have recognized Randall if he had been in the group. 

“I don’t think those dogs are very friendly,” Abigail said, swiftly changing the topic. Will wasn’t surprised, but he’d gotten some helpful information.

“Dogs are like horses,” Will explained, gently running his hands along his horse’s neck. “They just need to get comfortable with you first.”

“That’s the problem,” Abigail explained. “Until they’re comfortable with you, both dogs and horses will attack if frightened.”

“It’s natural instinct for them,” Will agreed then with a smile added, “but that’s why we’ve domesticated them both.”

Abigail also smiled, but shook her head playfully.

“You can’t ever truly domesticate an animal,” she said. “They’ll always have some animalistic tendencies in them.”

“I suppose that’s what makes them good hunters,” Will said. His smile had suddenly been replaced by a frown as he furrowed his eyebrows looking at the ground. 

“Are you alright?” Abigail asked, her voice diminished to a whisper. He nodded.

“Yes, sorry just...distracted,” Will said, his focus returning back to the present conversation.

“You should get more sleep,” Abigail said. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“If I could sleep, believe me I would,” Will said. He smiled once more. “I should go now. Until next time.”

“Next time,” Abigail said.

As Will trudged through the thick layers of snow accumulated by the various snowfalls, his mind traveled far from the still countryside to the tumble and forceful London murder of Dr. Gardner. Before he pictured a pack of wolves, or perhaps a larger rogue, but now this vision was morphing into a man. However the transformation didn’t finish. Above him the sky was darkening and the moon just beginning to emerge. He felt his nails elongating into claws and fangs pierce through his gums. Fur overflowed from his wool coat. He let out a howl into the night sky.

This wolfman was the answer. Will pondered how Tier may have fabricated it. Dog skins or wolf pelts sewn together would work. Perhaps bear claws fashioned into gloves? Finding this wolf suit would be the next step.

Will felt a sense of triumph fill him as he breathed in the sharp winter air. The hard part now would be convincing Jack of his discovery. He pulled his jacket in tighter to ward off the chill wind that was coming in. He expected a new snowfall soon. Once he’d reached the castle he stomped the snow off his boots, sending an echo through the cavernous halls. Hannibal would be aware of his presence now.

He preceded to gather the daily reports from his guards. Everything checked out. One merchant had visited the castle to deliver spices bought from the nearby town, but the spices had been tested for poison and the merchant had returned from where he came. A butler had been caught stealing a spoon. Illegal, but harmless. The only other note of worth was one of the guards near the northern wall thought he had spotted a bear in the forest. The man wanted to alert the castle. Will paused for a moment before deciding to issue a warning to the castle to be aware and to avoid traveling outside at night. This remained on his mind when he met Hannibal for dinner. 

“Tonight I made traditional roast beef with yorkshire pudding. A side of spiced carrots and peas,” Hannibal announced. Will watched the steam rise from the food and thin before completely evaporating into the cold air. Hannibal began to serve it.

“There was a bear sighting,” Will said. Hannibal raised his eyebrows.

“Strange, to see a bear this late in the season. I’d have thought they’d all be hibernating,” Hannibal said. “It’d be best to issue a warning to the castle to be safe.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Will said. He began to cut the meat. The question of whether or not the merchant had arrived home entered his mind, but he pushed it away and took a bite. He looked up, not surprised to see Hannibal watching him closely. Will had long ago noticed he enjoyed studying people when they ate his meals, especially Will. 

“You have been doing your job exceedingly well,” Hannibal said. The comment made Will pause. He wasn’t sure what he’d done differently today to elicit this remark.

“I’m glad to be fulfilling your expectations,” he said. “However, I will not be able to rest easy until all sources of danger have been extinguished.”

“The assassin?” Hannibal asked. Will looked up at Hannibal. 

“Precisely,” he said. He didn’t care to elaborate. Hannibal swallowed a piece of meat.

“Did he work in the stables?” Hannibal asked. Will frowned and the frighteningly calm look Hannibal had on across the table made him pause. His mind raced to think if he’d accidentally revealed something in his words or mannerisms and to understand Hannibal’s intentions behind the words.

“No,” Will said. The words felt pasty in his mouth, as if they were a sticky dough. 

“Then why have you been visiting the stables so often?” he asked. Will wasn’t sure how Hannibal knew that, but he remembered the close proximity of the kennels to the stables. The expression on Hannibal’s face continued to bother him but he couldn’t explain what was off about it. Hannibal took a long sip from his wine glass. Will’s remained untouched and his food was quickly cooling. As Hannibal set his glass back down, Will understood what was bothering him. Underneath his smooth demeanor, Hannibal was hiding anticipation.

Will stood up, smashing against the table and knocking his wine glass over. Anger boiled in his chest.

A scream pierced the night and seized Will’s heart. His rage chilled into fear and he rushed out of the room, not waiting for Hannibal’s reply. The chambers echoed with his footsteps, but he could hear the scream echoing in his ears. He didn’t bother to grab a coat as he threw open the main doors. A shivering wind blew into his face, bringing snow into the castle. After a step into the dark unknown, he took a breath to absorb the scene. Fresh snow was falling, blurring the image of the wide white expanse before him. In the thick snowfall, he couldn’t even see the edge of the forest.

Will bit down the pain from the frosty wind. Even without being able to see ten feet in front of himself, Will was able to find the familiar path towards the stables. The snow had soaked his pants below knee and was beginning to seep into his leather boots when he saw the strange black crumpled lump lying in the snow. It was so still that at first he thought it was a rock, but from the churning in his stomach he knew it couldn’t be. As he took a step closer, he saw black splotches around the misshapen form and he rushed forward.

He plowed through the snow, nearly tumbling over himself. When he was close enough, he fell to his knees and desperately grabbed for the still form. His hands tightened around fabric and he pulled. The body hanging in the clothes was dragged around with it, and Abigail’s head rolled around to stare beyond Will. His heart seized and his hand tightened on the fabric. 

Attacked by a sudden sense of horror, Will pulled Abigail closer so he could cradle her body. His breathing was rapid and let out clouds of water vapor like a chimney. He rocked her back and forth while searching desperately for a pulse. He realized with a start that his hands were covered with some black liquid, until he realized that it only looked black in the moonlight. Will pulled his hand back from her chest and realized with a start that it was soaked with blood. He tore apart her cloak until the deep crimson streaks across her chest could be seen.

The claw marks were deep and Will could see her heart was missing from the gaping wound in her chest. He closed his eyes and clutched her cold body tighter. It wasn’t until he heard the low growl that he looked up.

At first Will didn’t notice anything, but upon closer inspection he could make out a pair of yellow eyes watching him from the forest. He followed them as they weaved through the trees, slowly getting closer. Will’s mouth turned down and he stared with concentrated ire at the beast. The hunter and hunted held eye contact for a long moment when time seemed to halt and the very snow paused mid-fall.

Then the beast erupted from the trees into the exposed clearing. It bounded on all four legs towards Will, who was struggling to unhook Abigail’s cloak. He unclipped it just as the monster sprung. Will flung the heavy fabric up like a matador with a charging bull and the creature ran into it. It stumbled around, thrashing violently in an attempt to get the wool off, but to no avail as its claws kept getting stuck.

Will watched it for a few moments, finding momentary solace in the pleasure of its disorientation. Before it could free itself, Will kicked the beast to the ground. He heard a whimper before it began growling again. It lashed at him, but Will dug his knee into its abdomen and punched its nuzzle. He pressed his arm across its neck to stop it from jerking so much. With his other hand, he ripped a small part of the cloak off so he could peer into its face and see the man behind the mask.

“Why did you kill her?” Will hissed. “Did Hannibal tell you to? Like he told you to spy on me?”

Randall Tier laughed, blood coating his teeth as he smiled up at Will. 

“I wasn’t the one spying on you,” he whispered, his words distorted and mucky as if his mouth and tongue had swollen or he’d forgotten how to speak. His nostrils flared as he bared his dripping teeth and nodded his head towards Abigail. “She was.”

Will must have made an expression of disbelief because Randall smiled at him with satisfaction. He also didn’t realize that he’d loosened his grip, and suddenly Tier was able to push him off. He pinned Will to the ground. Will’s face was pushed into the hard lower layer of ice and his stomach was pressed against the ground. 

“If you want to know the truth,” Tier said. “Hannibal told me to kill her after she confided to him that you were aware of my...particularities.”

Will squirmed underneath Randall’s engineered claws that slowly dug into his back. Randall’s words were difficult to decipher, but Will was understood that Hannibal had ordered Abigail’s death and subsequently Will’s own in order to keep his deadly habits secret. Randall leaned closer, resting one paw next to Will’s shoulder.

“You wouldn’t believe how quickly she betrayed you,” he growled. Will curled his lips and with a yell, shoved his shoulder into Randall’s paw and threw him off balance. The ice was slippery enough to make him fall on his side. Will scrambled up and dug his knees firmly into the ground on either side of Randall, so his exposed stomach was facing the night sky. 

Without thinking, Will began to punch him and didn’t stop. Blood splattered from his nose and one eye puffed up. Will continued to beat him. Then he took Randall’s head in his hands and began to throw it into the ground again and again until his wolfish smile had disappeared. Finally he was sedated enough that he didn’t move or fight back when Will stopped punching. He just breathed roughly through his broken nose. Will guessed that he was trying to say something, but he didn’t care enough to listen. Instead he started unhooking one of Randall’s claws. Will carefully fastened it onto his own hand. It wasn’t until then that Randall seemed to comprehend his plan.

“Please,” he managed through a fractured jaw and clumsy tongue. “W-wait. I-”

“Goodbye Randall Tier,” Will said slowly and deliberately. He raised his now clawed hand, and plunged it into Randall’s chest. The warm blood overflowed as Will squeezed his hand around Randall’s heart and pulled. Randall’s non-swollen eye was wide and pleading, but now it was too late. He choked on his own blood, as Will held the heart in the air victoriously before collapsing into the snow.

He laid beside the two blood-covered bodies, his heavy-breathing sending puffs of vapor into the night sky. The heart was now cold and he let it slip from his palm. When he finally convinced himself to look up he could just make out the full moon looking on from above. His eyes then moved to the only other source of light, a castle window. From it, he could see a silhouette of someone watching him.

With immense difficulties, Will pulled himself up and dragged his legs through the high snow leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him. No one was in the foyer when he reached it; in fact the castle door was still open from when he’d left. He wiped his feet on the rug as the melted snow from his boots and hair pooled into a puddle. Then he noticed Hannibal standing at the top of the stairs, still dressed in his finery from dinner. Will’s anger returned with a flair.

“If you weren’t satisfied with my services,” he said, flicking a piece of damp hair from his eyes. “You could have just told me.”

A smile peaked at the corner of Hannibal’s mouth, but he didn’t move from his vantage point. Will wiped his jaw with his sleeve to remove something wet, not sure if it was snow or something else. Hannibal watched his moves closely, as if looking for some evident change in his mannerisms.

“Your  services have been much appreciated,” Hannibal explained. “And clearly, since it seems you have managed to kill the threat.” 

Will’s angry pout slowly melted as his eyes widen with realization. He took a step forward.

“You wanted me to kill Randall Tier,” he thought outloud. And suddenly the encounter was much clearer and he saw Hannibal’s true intentions. But Will had been a fool, and he hadn’t understood the signs until now. He’d played perfectly into Hannibal’s plans. He clenched his fist, knowing that it was now too late to save Abigail and far too late to undo what he’d done to Randall. Shivers ran down his spine, making him feel faint. The coldness seemed to have seeped into his bones and was only affecting him now that he’d returned to the warmth of the castle. 

Will tried to mutter something about Hannibal being guilty for Abigail’s death, even though he felt as guilty as if he’d been the one to kill her. He was too disoriented to see Hannibal stepping quickly and lightly down the steps. Just as Will’s legs crumbled, Will attempted to cling to the tapestry hanging on the wall. Hannibal arrived just in time to catch Will and stop the tapestry from falling with him. Hannibal held onto Will, even though he tried to push him away. Will thrashed his legs while shivers shook his body.

“Your lips are turning blue,” Hannibal said, his mouth frowning with displeasure. Will didn’t make any notion of hearing him and only tried once more to form the words  _ You killed Abigail. _ His fingers clutched at Hannibal’s cloak, both attempting to hang on and somehow inflict some kind of revenge. Yet, in Will’s rapidly depleting state he was unable to accomplish either. Finally, he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. Hannibal was muttering something, but all Will could hear in his head was  _ you killed Abigail, but I killed Randall Tier. _


	13. A Sickness

Will’s body shivered from the quick, unexpected shifts from burning to freezing. Each time he would attempt to throw off the suffocating layers of blankets only to have them reappear by some unseen force. Time passed in a blur as Will’s inflamed mind couldn’t comprehend much in his condition. Instead, Will’s thoughts and subconscious observations melted into a haze of hallucinations that came and disappeared as quickly as his temperature.

At first Abigail would appear, smiling down at him but soon her image was distorted into the crumpled heap that had been abandoned in the field of snow. Will could only stutter in discernable gibberish at her in his state.

There was only one truly pleasant dream, of Alana Bloom. She would appear suddenly like a ghost, by the window, at the foot of his bed, or stroking his cheek. It wasn’t often but when she did appear she always had a soft smile resting on her lips. This was almost worse because unlike the others, he direly wished this dream would come true. It was a cruel enticement that mocked him.

Once or twice he thought he caught sight of Beverly’s skirt brushing past outside his door. On only one occasion, he dreamt Beverly had come running up to him to shake him awake. She was frantic and begging for help but Will couldn’t call back to her. Then she abruptly dropped him. He never saw where she went, but during another fit he thought he heard a scream. However, he couldn’t be sure if it belonged to mirage Beverly or Abigail.

Worse than both was the hallucination of Randall Tier. He appeared several times, sometimes angry and bitter, others taunting and amused at Will’s helplessness. Will never had the energy to reply to him, so he was condemned to listen to his rage or simply endure his uncomfortable glares and smiles.

There was only one encounter in which Will’s subconscious allowed him to connect to Tier. Randall had been sitting in the chair in the far corner for close to three hours, originally coming to fix Will with a flaming angry stare. After a while his expression had shifted to one of bitter pleasure mixed with resentment. Will was using his usual tactic of ignoring him. Finally, Randall leaned forward and said, “It gives me satisfaction to watch you slowly dying. But it would have given me more satisfaction to kill you myself. I wanted to do it as the beast so I could sink my claws into your flesh.”

Will scoffed at the comment. Today some unknown power possessed Will to respond to Randall. Still laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Will pointedly said, “You were no beast. You were Hannibal’s pet.”

“Don’t forget this  _ pet _ killed Abigail,” Randall spit. Will’s jaw clenched.

“Under Hannibal’s orders. Like a lapdog,” he said smugly. “Tell me, what was that like? Being King Hannibal’s lapdog.”

Randall narrowed his eyes, then moved to stand over Will.

“Don’t pretend as if you don’t know,” Randall Tier said, his calm demeanor sending a shiver through Will. “I hope you enjoy it, now that you’ve eliminated all other competition.”

“I killed you for self-defense-,” Will said.

“No,” Randall said. “You killed me for revenge. For personal gain. Because Hannibal wanted you to. Because you wanted to. For the pleasure.”

He turned to leave, and Will didn’t stop him. Randall paused to add one final comment before leaving.

“You will make a fine lapdog. Hannibal will certainly be pleased,” he said, bitterly. Then he looked back to spit at Will, “I hope your collar won’t be too tight.”

Randall Tier appeared a few more times, typically showered with blood and fur with the wound in his chest visible, his teeth warped into fangs and his fingers into claws. But he never spoke to Will again and Will never spoke to him. The hallucinations slowly became less frequent until finally, they stopped altogether.

After that Will was left with his thoughts which he was finally forced to face now that his fever had subsided. This gave him the energy he needed to push himself out of bed. He saw from his window that the snow had melted away to reveal the muddy field and barren trees. One morning he found the strength to leave his room. He was surprised to find the castle busy with movement as servants packed up. 

“Excuse me,” Will stopped a butler passing by with a chest. “Are we leaving the castle already?”

The man did a good job of concealing his look of confusion, but Will wasn’t fooled.

“Sir, the king is returning to London,” he explained. “He will be glad to hear that you are well enough to join him on his journey.”

“London?” Will asked, squinting at the stream of light coming through the nearby window. “How long was I in bed?”

“You’ve been suffering from a severe chill for nearly three weeks sir,” the man said. Will frowned, then nodded his head.

“Thank you,” he said then added, “you may be on your way.”

Will returned to his room, but found the door open. He half-expected Randall to be waiting behind the door. Instead Hannibal had poured him a glass of water.

“You must be parched after that fever,” he said, offering the glass. Will didn’t hesitate to cross the room to join Hannibal. He downed the glass.

“I must have been out for weeks,” Will said. “The flowers have bloomed.”

“I was worried you’d miss them,” Hannibal said. “And I’m glad you’ll be conscious for our journey home.”

Will wondered when it had become  _ our. _

“It would have been such a shame if I had died out there in the snow,” Will said, putting sting into his words. “Quite lucky I was able to kill Randall Tier. Unfortunate that Abigail can’t say the same thing.”

Hannibal’s eye lit up with amusement at Will’s agitation, which only served to vex Will further. He bit down his anger to hear Hannibal’s reply.

“It is unfortunate that Abigail became tangled up in such deplorable matters,” Hannibal said. “I had planned on inviting her to the castle year round.”

“I’m sure you considered that before you killed her,” Will said.

“I did not kill her,” Hannibal said. “It was Abigail who fostered her own death. And it was Randall who killed her, with only minimal encouragement. You needed only a little more encouragement to kill Randall.”

“Killing my friend is more than a little encouragement,” Will hissed.

“You also killed my friend,” Hannibal said. “And a dedicated employee.”

“Then I guess we’re even,” Will said. “You took someone from me, I took someone from you. Who does that leave us with?”

“Each other,” Hannibal said, pouring Will another glass. Will took it. “I’ll call a servant to finish packing your things.”

  
  
_The king will be arriving shortly, and it is essential that he suspect nothing. How lucky that his personal guard suffered a severe illness and will most likely still be delirious, or at least distracted. Under these condition, England and its ruler stand no chance against Russia’s fiercest warrior. The Dragon will ensure the downfall of the English crown._


	14. A Correspondence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for reading this chapter, hope you enjoy it.

Returning to the city also meant ultimately returning to the nobles and their never-ending questions and pointed stares. Will answered any questions about his time in the country short and vaguely. From the corner of his eyes he caught a few extra stares coming from nobles. These stares were different because this time they weren’t curious but alarmed. They couldn’t have known about Randall, so then what did they know?

Will noticed Chilton weaving through the other nobles in his direction. He immediately tried to escape to his private quarters. No sooner had he stepped away from the nobles then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Forgive me My Lord Chilton, I-” But Will cut himself off. “Jack?”

“Will,” Jack said, his voice uncharacteristically emotional. He was relieved, which confused Will. “I’m so sorry,  I really am. You know that I tried my hardest to help them, I really did.”

“What are you talking about?” Will asked. Jack looked perturbed. Hannibal was staring at them from the other side of the room.

“Didn’t you...I assumed you were informed about Price, Zeller, and Beverly while you were away,” Jack said. Will froze and grabbed Jack’s shoulder.

“No,” he said. “What happened?”

Jack looked Will up and down, his lips pursed. Then he took his shoulder and guided him to a side hallway. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. His shoulders were tense and he stood uncomfortably straight.

“While you were away the nature of Price and Zeller’s...relationship was discovered,” Jack said bluntly. Will opened his mouth but couldn’t summon any words. It didn’t matter because Jack more to say. “It was sickening how badly the newspapers twisted it out of proportion. The citizens were frenzied after they heard the word ‘devil worship’, worsened by that damned Archbishop.”

“Where are they now?” Will asked desperately, adrenaline making his hands shake.

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “Between us, I did what I could and they escaped execution. But I don’t know where they went. Probably France, if I had to guess.”

Will stood against a wall, covered his eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning. Jack rested his hand on his shoulder.

“I thought you knew,” he said.

“The king has been conveniently hiding information from me,” he said. He looked up at Jack. “Was the apartment cleaned out?”

“I know you want to absolve them of guilt,” Jack said. “But there was strong evidence and I don’t want you involved in something that might be detrimental to your career.”

Jack waited for some sign of Will responding or understanding. His vision was focused on the opposite wall.

“Your boys took the evidence but the rest of the house remains intact?” Will asked. Jack reluctantly nodded.

“I’ll take you there but only if this will help you cope, not encourage some sort of obsession,” Jack said. Will finally looked up at him.

“Thank you,” he said. Then he looked anxiously down the hallway. “Let’s go now, I’ll tell my second in command to keep on eye on the king.”

They left the palace stealthily, even though they were fully permitted to leave. Will checked behind every corner before going down each hallway. Jack took note and instinctively followed Will’s lead. After they had escaped the palace Will continued to keep his head down and blend into the crowds on their way to the Zellers’.

The windows were uncomfortably dark and dusty when they arrived. Jack unlocked the front door which released stale air from the crypt-like house. Will felt suffocated by it. The familiar sight of Beverly welcoming him at the door was now only a ghost of a memory in an empty hallway. Jack lit a candle which failed to revive the heavy atmosphere and only caused haunting lights to dance across the walls.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting to find…” Jack said, but Will was already wandering down the hallway. The light from Jack’s candle followed him to the workroom. He was disappointed to find it had been sterilized. All the equipment had apparently been confiscated. Now only the work table remained to reflect light in its dull metal.

“The tools were given to the Academy?” Will asked. Jack nodded.

“The Lord Chilton requested them for the London Academy of Medicine and Science,” Jack said.

Will turned and left the room, having only stayed in it a moment. Instead he found his way upstairs to Beverly’s room. Jack trailed behind. The door opened with a creak of disuse. A faint ray of light fell through the window shades. Will noticed that one side of the neatly pressed bed was much more worn than the other. He didn’t have to visit Price’s room to know where her husband had really been sleeping. 

Next his eyes jumped to the desk, but it was empty. There was nothing in the drawers either.

“Did you take all the letters and papers as well?” he asked.

“Yes. They were evidence, but we didn’t find anything particularly damning in there,” Jack said. Will turned to Jack.

“Did you donate any of their lab coats to the Academy?” Will asked. “Specifically Beverly’s?”

Jack furrowed his eyes for a moment.

“We rummaged Zeller and Price’s wardrobes and gave whatever scientific gear we found to the Academy,” he said. “But we never found any lab gear for Beverly. I was under the impression she used one of Zeller’s.”

“Zeller’s wouldn’t have fit her and Beverly was very particular about having full mobility so as to enhance her precision,” Will said. He opened Beverly’s wardrobe but found only her dresses. “She wouldn’t have had her work clothing lying about in the open. She was careful like that.”

Will tried to step into Beverly’s shoes. She had a hidden satisfaction from hiding her rebellious work in plain sight, often in masquerading it as her husband’s work. Will’s eyes crept along the edge of the wardrobe. He ran his hands along the back wall of it but found only smooth wood. Then he looked downwards and noticed from the outside it appeared the wardrobe continued down farther yet the floor of it was higher than anticipated. It was enough room for a hidden box.

He bent down and searched the perimeter of the floor for a switch or hidden lock. His hands caught on an indent in the wood, big enough for him to slip his finger under and pull up. There was a soft click and the wooden panel popped off. He peered inside the hidden drawer and was pleased to find a lab coat, much too small to fit Zeller or Price. There were also a few black books. He skimmed through them and discovered they were Beverly’s scientific diaries. Then Will’s heart stopped.

A pile of letters were loosely tied together and stuffed in the back corner, as if in a rush. Will gently picked them up and started to sift through them. He picked up the one on the bottom, assuming it was the first. He was correct. But he was shocked to find that the letter was from him. It was the letter he’d sent Beverly from the country. 

Will felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he read the next letter, written in what appeared to be his own words.The handwriting was impeccable and it had his own signature on it, but the words were undoubtedly not his. He realized with a start that someone had been masquerading as him. The more of the letters he read, the more he began to understand the situation. The letters alluded to the work that Beverly was investigating for Will and progress she’d made. It was clear that Beverly had been convinced the correspondence was with Will and that she could freely share her discoveries, and whoever was writing the letters was encouraging her to keep searching and elaborate upon what she’d found.

The letters sickened Will with the image of Beverly unknowingly sealing her fate and Will now knew his own role in it. Even if he hadn’t written the letters, he’d convinced her to begin her quest in the first place. Perhaps the most frustrating of all was the vagueness of the letters. Will was sure that Beverly had been very specific but the letters she received only mentioned topics discussed in the previous letter, and so Beverly’s discovery remained hidden.

Then Will found a useful clue. One letter read:  _ If the previously mentioned Dr. Abel Gideon died under questionable circumstances and without a known heir then his scientific journals would most likely have been donated to the London Academy of Science and Medicine, especially if he was respected enough to have performed the autopsy for the king… _

He quickly pulled out the next letter but found it read:  _ I was disappointed to hear you were denied access to London Academy’s Archives. I shall visit them as soon as I return… _

No more letters mentioned the London Academy and only briefly Dr. Gideon. That painful knot in his stomach worsened as Will could feel Beverly growing worried of being discovered as the letters became subtly more persuasive to calm her and emphasized the need for her to continue. 

Will felt like Randall Tier was pulling out his heart as he read the last letter. It was different from the others in that it read as if the other person was surprised by how far Beverly had gotten. Unlike the other letters it warned Beverly to share the information she knew with no one and to take no action until he, Will, returned to London. The strangest and most disconcerting part of the letter was the farewell which read:  _ Nothing can remain hidden forever.  _ It sounded excited, even victorious. But not the victory that Will would have felt at hearing of Beverly’s success, but a sick victory of the unknown manipulator at Beverly’s suspense.

The final distress came when Will saw the letter was signed  _ Sir William Graham _ . He immediately recognized the slight change in the signature because, not only did he never sign documents  _ Sir William Graham _ , but he also didn’t add a flourish under his name. Worst of all, he’d seen the exact flourish before on one of the king’s official documents.

He jumped when Jack put his hand on his shoulder.

“What is it?” Jack asked. Will shook his head.

“Just personal letters,” he explained, putting the letters away. “Nothing useful.”

Jack watched closely as Will carefully hid the letters in the back of the box. He held the lab coat.

“Are you going to donate this?” he asked. Jack’s eyes softened and he answered no. Will nodded, not noticing himself slightly squeezing the fabric. “Thank you.”

He placed it back into the box then snapped the wood back into place.

“What evidence did you find to convict them?” Will asked as they headed down the stairs. 

“One of my guards received an anonymous tip and investigated before I was informed that it was about the Zellers,” Jack explained. His eyes saddened as they passed the paintings still hanging frozen in time on the wall. “They discovered evidence of unsavory behavior in Price’s bedroom and several neighbors and friends provided eyewitness accounts of their unusually close relationship.”

“That’s not nearly enough evidence to convict them,” Will said.

“It wasn’t,” Jack said. The twinge of guilt in his voice worried Will. “But it was enough to bring them in for questioning. At that point, one of my men was able to pry a confession from Zeller.”

“You let them be tortured?” Will asked, turning on Jack. His face was wrought with disgust.

“No murder was committed Will,” Jack said. “This wasn’t considered a serious violation until the confession. So I was not informed until all the evidence had been gathered and a confession had been obtained. The only reason I was even granted that is because Zeller and Price were legal employees of mine, and higher ups felt it my fault that I let homosexuals into our ranks.”

Will stared at the ground, his chest rising and falling forcefully. Jack put his hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“When I found out I did everything I could,” he said, his words unyielding. “Believe me. Helping them escape was a huge risk for myself and them, and it's certainly not ideal, but it’s much better than what would have happened if they’d stayed here. As it is, I’ve got royal officials riding me about their escape and the lax security. If there was anything else I could have done, I would have done it.”

Jack finished his outburst and took a step away from Will to give him room. He didn’t say anything but Will looked up and away from him.

“You’re right,” he said. “You were their friend too. And you’re not to blame for what happened to them.”

“Will, is there something else going on here?” Jack asked. His face and words sounded concerned, but Will could see an underlying vein of suspicion. He shook his head.

“Between this and the journey back into the city, I have had a rather exhausting day is all,” Will lied. “Speaking of which, I’m sure the king will be having many guests for dinner. I should return to the castle now.”

“Alright,” Jack said. “But Will, you know you can trust me.”

Will finally looked at Jack, his eyes harsh.

“I know that,” he said.


	15. A Plea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy everyone! After much meditation and contemplation and soul-searching, I've realized that I've made a terrible mistake and Francis Dolarhyde should've been PRUSSIAN not RUSSIAN. So I am making an edit so that's what happens. Please don't be too upset or confused if you see his country of origins has changed.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter! And as always, if you enjoy please leave a comment/kudos/anyfeedback. I really appreciate it! Thanks!!

Out of the corner of his eye, Will was aware of Hannibal staring at him.

“I’m not changing,” he said definitively. Hannibal looked at him with an innocent smile.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he said. “Although it is an admirable idea.”

Will sighed and turned to face the king, who was sitting comfortably in his vibrant purple suit. He had a white sash dotted with medals draped across his chest. He’d been ready nearly an hour ago. Will hadn’t even changed out of his travel clothes.

“You and I have different definitions of what an ‘admirable idea’ is,” Will said bitterly. Hannibal arched his eyebrow. Will frowned at him and impulsively decided to take advantage of his good mood to ask, “Hannibal, did you share my family’s history with any of the nobles?”

Again, Hannibal covered his face with a mask of innocence. Will could see some amusement peeking out from under it. 

“I would never betray your trust in such a way,” Hannibal said sincerely. His mask fell away as he added, “However, I do have a suspicion of whom it may have been. I’d be much more open to discussing this topic if you’d change into something more fitting the occasion.”

“We’ve just returned from traveling,” Will said. “I’d say that my traveling suit fits the occasion perfectly.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows pushed together into a faint pained expression. Will felt his resolve weakening.

“Who was it?” he asked, keeping his voice unflinching. Hannibal smiled and looked down at the teacup he just picked up. Will’s mouth fell open slightly. He closed his eyes and lamented, “Freddie.”

“Might I suggest the garnet suit?” Hannibal said, his smiled growing. Will mumbled a reply as he entered his own room.

 

The guestlist of the dinner was much larger than Will was anticipating, but luckily he had summoned more royal guards than he originally needed and now it made up for the difference. That didn’t change the fact that Will was now forced to interact with more people. 

Before the dinner began, the king paused to make an introduction.

“I’d like to announce, and personally welcome, Sir Francis Dolarhyde, Prussian ambassador,” Hannibal said, raising his wineglass. “Welcome.”

The ambassador intrigued Will. He was quiet and held himself with an air of dignity and a hint of austerity. It was a drastic contrast to the English nobles. The man seemed to have the same reaction that Will had had to them. Will continued to watch the man until he saw Countess Bloom.

Her face was a welcome one after his increasing feeling of claustrophobia. She had been seated rather far away from Will during dinner but it allowed time for him to devise an idea. Suddenly the abundant supply of people became advantageous. Of course this encouraged Will to make every effort to appear engaged in conversation, both with the king and his subjects. The conversation topics were mainly about the king’s adventures in the country, which Will had experienced enough of. He was caught drastically off guard, and nearly choked on his wine, when a noblewoman asked him, “Sir William, is it true you killed a fully grown bear with only your hands?”

The rest of the nobility chuckled at his jolt. He put his wine glass down and wiped his mouth before answering.

“I-, no. Where did you hear that?” he asked.

“The rumor’s been traveling around the court,” Baron Tobias spoke up. “I have heard it too. And surely a rumor of that extent has some basis in truth?”

Will scrunched his nose and noticed that a few faces had turned to join the conversation.

“I did kill a grizzly animal,” he finally answered. He couldn’t help but smile at his own cleverness. “But I had more than just my bare hands and it certainly wasn’t fully grown. I’d say it was much more juvenile than that.”

“Is it true that the creature killed a servant girl?” Another noblewoman asked, leaning in eagerly. Will’s smile faded.

“Yes. I’m afraid that’s one unfortunate similarity between the city and the country,” Will glanced up at Hannibal. “Death inhabits both.”

A laugh sprung up from a few seats away. Will’s lips frowned with irritation. The Archbishop slammed his hand on the table, making Hannibal’s eye twitch.

“Sir Graham, you are so gloomy,” Mason said. “You speak of death as if it’s the end. We all know that He awaits us after life. That servant girl is in good hands. Unless, of course, she was unfaithful.”

Before Will could reply, Hannibal stepped in.

“I take faithfulness very seriously,” he said. “It is a top quality I look for in my servants.”

“It is a top quality that He looks for in His servants as well,” Archbishop agreed. Will resigned himself to not rejoin the conversation, not thinking it wise to speak with the Archbishop for much longer. Thankfully, the dinner ended soon afterwards and Hannibal invited the men into the main parlor. As the women were escorted to their own parlor, Will noticed the Archbishop leaving with them. He took advantage of the opportunity, and quickly gave Hannibal his excuse before trailing after Mason.

Will was hardly surprised to discover the Archbishop bothering one of the noblewomen he’d managed to isolate. The woman was clearly distressed until Will appeared behind the Archbishop.

“Archbishop Verger,” he said, his voice firm and deadly. The Archbishop glanced at him with a look of vexation.

“Excuse me, I’m gathering payments to His Holy Church,” he lied. The woman’s eyes widened and Will put his hand on the Archbishop’s shoulder, pulling him back.

“The king is awaiting you in the parlor with the other men,” he said. “He’d be rather offended to discover you’d dismissed him to visit the women.”

The Archbishop curled his lips and stepped away from the woman.

“Very well,” he said, then turned to the woman, “We can continue our holy discussion later.”

Mason adjusted his extravagant robes and left down the hall towards the parlor. Once he was out of sight, the woman nearly collapsed in front of Will.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said. Will patted her shoulders awkwardly.

“Let me know if he bothers you again,” he said. She nodded. “Perhaps you’d best turn in early tonight.”

She nodded again and started to leave.

“Forgive me but, before you go, could you tell me where Countess Bloom is?” Will asked. The woman looked bewildered for a moment before answering, “I believe she stepped into one of the balconies for some fresh air.”

“Thank you very much,” Will said, then left in search of the balcony.

He found the balcony by following the faint spring breeze left by the open glass doors. Will paused at the doors to gaze at the Countess’s still figure leaning over the iron railings.

“Countess Bloom?” he asked, quietly. She jumped and turned to him. Her hand clutched her chest.

“Will,” she said. “You snuck up on me.”

She laughed and turned back to gaze at the view. “You always used to do that when we were little too.”

Will cautiously moved closer to her, but not before closing the doors. 

“I was a cruel child,” he said. She looked at him and shook her head.

“You were the kindest child I ever knew, and my best friend,” she said. She looked out at the city longingly. “My fondest memories are of us as children, frolicking happily in the countryside. We didn’t have a care in the world until your family was forced to leave.”

Suddenly her expression became doleful and she said, “I never did tell you how sorry I was to see you go.”

“You didn’t have to,” Will answered. She finally looked up at him and rested her hand on his arm with a smile.

“How was it? Being in the countryside again?” She asked. 

“Exhausting,” he answered, making Alana laugh.

“I haven’t left the city in ages,” she said with a sigh. There was some regret in her voice. Will took her hand.

“Would you like to?” he asked. She paused and looked confused.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Alana, leave with me,” Will said, his words coming faster as his adrenaline levels rose. “Right now. Leave the city, leave England. No one would know.”

Alana laughed and pushed a fallen curl back into Will’s brushed back hair.

“I think you’re a little tired from your journey,” she said. Will kept holding her hand tightly.

“Don’t laugh,” he said. Her smile faded. “King Hannibal is a monster and he’s going to strangle this city and us with it.”

She pulled her hand away from his.

“Will, you don’t know what you’re saying. I don’t know why you’re so agitated,” she said, taking a step back. “What you’re suggesting is treason and I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “Hannibal is the one you should be worried about.”

“Have you told Commander Jack about your suspicions?” Alana asked.

“He won’t listen to reason,” Will said. “I’ve shown him the evidence.”

“And what evidence is there?” Alana asked. Will glanced out towards the city.

“Hannibal has been killing, eating, and serving people to his guests,” Will said. “I suspect him of having murdered his predecessor and I have evidence of him hiring a man named Randall Tier to kill others who discovered this.”

Alana’s eyes were wide with shock as she tore her arm away. She leaned against the railing for support.

“You need to leave,” she said. “We are no longer two careless children in the countryside and you are talking about very dangerous subjects. Your journey must have been very tiring and taken a toll on your sanity. Please do not approach me again until you have regained your senses.”

She slammed open the doors and stormed down the hallway. Will turned to gaze angrily at the city he’d already sacrificed so much for. His stomach churned, knowing that there was only one path left for him. Following it would be terrifying, no doubt, but it was clear he couldn’t escape London. He could only hope to escape it’s ruler.

An idea sparked in Will’s mind as he remembered Chilton being present at the party. Although it sickened him, he felt it was time he took him up on his invitation to dinner.

  
  


After the guests had retired, Will returned to his room to find his travel case unemptied. He summoned a servant and had him unpack it. Meanwhile, Will waited for Hannibal’s return but he still hadn’t arrived when the suitcase was emptied. This troubled Will because he was aware of how their nightly discussions entertained Hannibal. The servant also wasn’t aware of where the king was.

Will found himself feeling an uncomfortable mix of anxious and drowsy after the exhausting day and too many glasses of wine. He resigned himself to wait for Hannibal in one of the chairs in his room, but soon fell asleep.


	16. A Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope ya'll had a great NYCC weekend! I didn't get to see Bryan Fuller but hope that everyone that did have a fun time. I did get to cosplay Will and Hannibal with my friend. You can check out pictures on my tumblr, mysteriouslysexyphilosopher. To celebrate, here's a super duper chapter with extra DRAMA. Enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think of it!

The next morning Will woke with a jolt. He was still in Hannibal’s room, but his wine glass had been taken and the balcony doors had been left open. Will rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he searched for the king. He didn’t find him on the balcony or anywhere else in his bedroom.

When he heard a knock on the door, he opened it to find Freddie waiting with a pot of tea and a smirk.

“Will,” she said, clearly not at all ashamed that she had revealed his heritage.

“Freddie,” he grumbled.

“Slept in?” she asked, not waiting to be invited in. She placed down the tea and turned to smile smugly at Will. “I’m surprised you’re not at the trial.”

Will drowsily poured himself a glass of tea to calm his pounding head.

“Trial?” he asked. Freddie blinked her eyes, feigning shock at his ignorance.

“Of course,” she said. “I thought you would have known, seeing as it could have potentially put His Majesty in great risk.”

Will nearly smashed the teacup down.

“Whose trial?” he asked. Freddie didn’t flinch at his sudden movement.

“Countess Bloom has been accused and found guilty of witchcraft,” she said. “When I left they were considering burning her at the stake.”

Will didn’t even bother dismissing Freddie as he rushed out of the room. It didn’t even occur to him that he was still in his dinner party clothes from the night before. He spat a quick apology when he accidentally knocked over the platter that one servant was holding.

His heart was pounding from running and from fear when he reached the court. There was a flood of nobles already leaving the room, several of whom gave Will questionable glances that he didn’t even notice. He stumbled through them, trying to make his way into the room or at least catch a glimpse of Alana. Then he stopped when he caught eyes with Jack and saw the sorrow in his eyes. They met each other in the far corner of the room, far from listening ears.

“Is she-” Will couldn’t even finish his own sentence. Jack shook his head.

“She was found guilty,” he said. It felt like a stab in Will’s gut. “But she’s repented and the good Archbishop has agreed to reform her.”

A small wave of relief washed over Will until the circumstance dawned on him again.

“Can I see her?” he asked. Jack shook his head.

“She’s being sent to the monastery immediately,” he said. “It’s wise. They want to escort her out of the city before the crowds gather.”

“Jack, we both know she’s innocent,” Will pleaded. “This is Hannibal’s doing. I-...Jack, I talked to her last night so he decided to get her out of the way. He did it to Beverly and Zeller and Price and now he did it to Alana.”

“Will,” Jack slowly pulled Will towards the back exit. “Let me take you back to your room. You clearly didn’t get much sleep last night and it’s clearly affecting you.”

Will tore his arm away from Jack.

“You know there’s some insidious going on here, Jack,” Will said angrily. “Why are you pretending there isn’t?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said, matching Will’s tone. Will narrowed his eyes, but then Jack’s face softened. “Let me take you back to your room.”

“I know where my room is,” Will said, and turned away to disappear back into the crowd.

The king was sipping from a teacup when Will returned. His tea had been left untouched, although Freddie was gone. Will close the door with a bang and turned to face Hannibal, who gazed at him unflinchingly and with a bit of excitement.

“You must be more gentle. That is very delicate wood and slamming it may distort the frame,” Hannibal said calmly.

“Distort the wood frame?” Will asked, his anger spilling out slowly. “Hannibal. You just condemned my childhood friend to death. If Archbishop Mason Verger-” Will spit, “hadn’t stepped in, she’d be burning alive as we speak.”

“Childhood friend?” Hannibal asked, his tone suddenly icy. “You never shared the intimacy of your relationship with her.”

“It wasn’t intimate,” Will said, suddenly feeling flustered. “We used to be close until- the point is you know that she is not a witch.”

“I had no idea she was a witch until one of her handmaidens approached a royal guard with her evidence,” Hannibal said. “You of all people should appreciate the power that evidence has to reveal truth.”

“That is not the truth!” Will yelled, gripping his head with his hands. He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “You are manipulating the truth. You are- you are treating me like one of your subjects that you can twist to do your bidding, but I am not your subject!”

Will stood, his chest moving up and down forcefully, and slowly his rage dissipated as he waited for Hannibal’s reply. Hannibal was seemingly aware of this and took his time before answering.

“You are not my subject,” he said. “You have never been my subject. I consider you my friend.”

Hannibal managed to keep a straight face as Will’s fury crumbled beneath him. Only a small smile creeped onto his face as Will wiped his hair back and stared at the floor. Hannibal watched him as he sat down across from him, still holding his head in his hands. Eventually, Will looked up.

“Was Randall Tier ever your friend?” he asked. Will carefully read Hannibal’s face as he answered, “No. Merely a business acquaintance.”

Will couldn’t deny that he believed Hannibal but certainly didn’t want to let him see that. He licked his lips and matched Hannibal’s gaze.

“Perhaps I’m your friend, but how do you know that you’re not just merely a business acquaintance to me?” Will asked. “Isolating me won’t change that.”

“Isolating implies you are completely alone,” Hannibal pointed out. “You certainly aren’t.”

“And thus, neither are you,” Will said bitterly. He rose to his door. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to change.”


	17. A Conspiracy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters. I had so much fun writing interactions between these characters that didn't all meet in the series. I hope you guys also have as much fun reading! And thanks for all the comments and kudos!! :))

The Chilton  residence was on the outskirts of the city where there was more room for unnecessary embellishments and gardens. Will guessed that the extravagant house was likely where the majority of the funds from the London Academy of Science and Medicine were spent. If Will hadn’t been so driven he would have turned around when the butler opened the door.

He followed the man to the parlor, where he was met by Chilton who was wearing a green cravat to match his green suit dotted with gold. He swung his cane with a flourish when he saw Will.

“Sir William Graham,” he said, bowing deeply. “I am so grateful you accepted my invitation. It was inevitable that two men of science, such as ourselves, would eventually come together to discuss academic endeavors.”

“Yes,” Will said, plastering on a smile. “That is precisely why I am here. As the head of the London Academy of Science and Medicine, you no doubt have access to the papers I requested.”

Chilton mocked offense.

“Of course,” he said. “My influence is far-reaching and the papers you were curious about were quite easy to obtain. They are currently in my library.”

Chilton began leading Will down the hallway, taking the opportunity to point out his priceless vases and rare paintings.

“The papers were simple doctoral notes, so they were in the records.” Chilton stopped to point to a painting of two women sitting together. “Ah yes, and here is the Jean Baptiste Claude Richard. I nearly had to kill a man to outbid him for it. But yes, the records…”

They finally reached the library, although Will was quite sure they had taken a few detours for Chilton to show off his house. He swung his cane in the direction of a table with a dusty leather-bound book sitting on it. Will didn’t even notice the rest of the immense library.

“The scientific records of Dr. Abel Gideon, doctor to the king,” Chilton said proudly. Will quickly opened the notes and scrolled to the date of the king’s death. His eyes lit up when he saw the word,  _ assassination. _ He slammed the book closed and tucked it into his jacket.

“Thank you very much, Dr. Chilton,” he said, making Chilton smile fondly.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, overly modestly. “Anything for a friend.”

There was a ring at the door. Chilton straightened up.

“That must be my other guest,” he said, making his way back to the parlor. Will followed behind him curiously.

“Forgive me but I didn’t realize there would be other guests,” Will said.

“It would rather rude of you to keep my company to yourself,” Chilton said. Will frowned with vexation. His irritation changed to concern when the other guests entered the parlor.

“Baron Tobias,” Chilton said with a bow, then turned to his other guest. “And Archbishop Mason. A true pleasure.”

“Frederick, you needn’t flourish us with your sickening compliments,” Tobias said, not hiding his frustration. 

“I have no objection,” Mason said, leaning back into the comfy parlor chair. Tobias curled his lip at him and Will was struck by how out of character this dinner party was for all three men. He felt a heavy pit in his stomach but couldn’t see any possible exit from the private dinner turned party. He realized with annoyance that he hadn’t revealed his dinner plans to anyone at the palace, so no one knew his whereabouts. Tobias gave him a menacing smile.

“Sir William Graham,” he said, offering his hand. 

“Baron Tobias,” Will said, shaking it.

“I hear you’re quite a fencer,” he said. “You must let me challenge you one day.”

“You would challenge all of London to fencing if you could,” Mason said with boredom. “And you’d lose.”

“Thank you, Your Holiness,” Tobias said in a monotone irritation. Chilton cleared his throat and turned to Will.

“I assume you and Archbishop Mason have been acquainted?” he asked. Will nodded.

“Very well then, shall we move to the dining room?” he suggested, pointing with his cane.

The three men sat at the grand table, much too long for the amount of acquaintances that Chilton had. A lone butler, the same man that had answered the door for Will, served dinner.

“Thank you, Cordell,” Mason said.

Will fought to expel his worry during dinner, but the interactions between the three men were discomforting. They were too familiar with each other, and it was much too unexpected. Will couldn’t piece together why the men would keep each other’s company in the first place or why they would continue to do so. More so, their conversations felt too forced as if they were simply talking to pass the time until something happened but Will couldn’t figure out what that something was.

“Will, I must ask you,” Chilton said, swirling his wine but not sipping it. “Why did you keep your family history a secret?”

“My father wasn’t exactly on the friendliest terms with the court when he was banished,” Will pointed out. Tobias chuckled.

“That’s true, from what Papa has told me of his time in court before he passed away, God Bless Him,” Mason said, tilting his head quickly up towards the sky.

“It must have been horrific to grow up destitute,” Chilton sighed.

“We weren’t completely impoverished,” Will pointed out. “We had some things.”

“That sounds positively dreadful,” Chilton said. “No wonder you hate the nobility.”

“I don’t hate the nobility,” Will said, but the words fell flat.

“And we don’t hate the poor,” Mason said. “Those disgusting, filthy pigs.”

Will took a long sip of his wine glass. He noticed the butler had disappeared. He changed the conversation, “Forgive me if this is forward, but I must admit that I would not have guessed you three to be such close friends.”

“Friends is a loose term,” Tobias explained.

“We have mutual interests,” Chilton agreed. 

“Surely you can understand that,” Mason said. “Your relationship with Hannibal seems to operate on similar principles.”

“Are you referring to self-interest?” Will asked, their answers making him more jittery. He drank more wine to calm his nerves.

“Yes, it is the value that all of London acts upon. Whether or not all of its inhabitants acknowledge that.” Mason said, cutting the ham on his plate. “And we understand court and the nobles. And the king.”

“Hannibal?” Will asked.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed, Will, that the king has been gaining an unprecedented amount of power. It wasn’t pretty the last time the king had that much power,” Chilton said. “We thought ourselves lucky when Hannibal replaced him but now the court seems to be falling down the same path.”

Will’s head was pounding now. He drank more wine, but it was only dulling his mind.

“You’re going to kill Hannibal,” he said, clumsily throwing his napkin off his lap. His words were slurring. “And you want me to kill him for you?”

Mason laughed. Will shook his head, trying to dispel the heavy fog that was strangling his thoughts.

“You put...drugged my wine?” he asked while struggling to stand up, Mason kicked his chair over. Will tumbled to the floor, barely hanging onto his consciousness.

“You’re right about the drugging but you misinterpreted our intentions,” Mason said. Will grasped for the door as the other two men stood to join Mason.

“You’re much too infatuated with the king to kill him and you hate the nobles too much to help us,” Mason said. “You’re the only one that stands between us and the king.”

“I’ve been waiting patiently for that opportunity,” Tobias added.

“It’s for the good of London,” Chilton said. The three pairs of legs standing in front of Will blurred as his head fell unconscious on Chilton’s rugged dining room floor.


	18. A Party Crasher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I've been busy with college stuff. I hope ya'll had a happy Halloween and here is a special Halloween chapter as a thanks for your patience. Enjoy! ;)

Blinding artificial light dug into Will’s corneas as he came to. Even though his head was strapped down it felt like it was spinning. He tried to raise his hands, but they were bound at his sides. He squinted to block out the light so he could see where he was.

It appeared he was in a laboratory. He’d been restrained on a lab gurney and his dress coat had been replaced by a blanket. Will had seen such blankets used by Beverly to absorb blood from autopsies. This made him shiver with fear. He realized with a shock that his face was numb. Then a shadow fell across the light. He tensed until he heard its voice.

“I hope you’re comfortable Sir William,” Chilton said, pulling his doctor’s mask down to speak to Will. Even though his face was numb, he managed to glare at Chilton.

“Now, I want you to cooperate so this goes smoothly for both of us,” he said, organizing his dissecting tools. “It’s rather rude to glare at me. Really I’m doing all of London a favor. It’s selfish not to donate your brain to science, especially if you’re dying anyway. You’re very lucky, really. I am the Academy’s most advanced surgeon. Tobias and Mason just wanted to poison you, but I convinced them how wasteful that would be. In fact-”

“Chilton, get on with the surgery or I’ll gut him with my sword and be done with it,” Tobias said, making Will notice him and Mason waiting at the edge of the ring of light from the lantern above the lab table. He tried to form words but his lips were too numb to be coherent.

“Tobias, this is a delicate art,” Chilton said. “I cannot be rushed.”

“This’ll be easier for us both if you’re still,” Chilton said, compelling Will to fight against his restraints. Chilton struggled to pin him back down. His hand briefly moved too close to Will’s mouth and he took advantage of the opportunity. Even in his sedated state, he sunk his teeth into Chilton’s hand.

He let out a piercing scream that echoed in the chamber but Will bit down harder. The taste of his blood was sweet on his lips. Finally Will let go and Chilton tumbled back. He clutched his bloody hand and rocked back and forth. Tobias rose with an expression on his face of pure irritation, and no actual concern for Chilton.

“My hands,” Chilton moaned.

Tobias unsheathed his sword and raised it above his head but paused when Mason spoke up.

“Chilton, did you lock the door?” Mason asked but Chilton just continued to moan with agony.

“Shut up fool!” Tobias yelled at him. “Someone’ll hear you.”

“It sounds like someone already heard you,” Mason said. “Tobias…”

Tobias lowered his sword and turned towards the door. Will tried to turn his head to view the doorway, but the leather straps kept it out of his sight. He noticed Tobias’ body tense before he rushed towards the door with his sword.

Then he could hear the clash of metal on metal. He could hear Tobias shouting at someone and then the gasp of someone being impaled, and their blood-soaked body falling to the floor. The silence was then shattered by footsteps, wet with blood-someone else’s? The speed of the runner implied they hadn’t been injured, yet. But other footsteps, different tone, followed behind. Then they echoed down the hallway until they could be heard no more.

Will’s heavy breathing filled the room, although there was a faint murmur from Chilton who was sitting in the corner. He realized that a fair amount of Chilton’s blood had fallen onto his wrists and that it was just enough lubricant for him to slide one of his wrists out of the leather restraint. He untied his other wrist and freed his head. 

Near the door he could see Tobias collapsed in a pile of blood. Will walked past him, found his clothes thrown onto a chair, and quickly put his coat back on. Will was relieved to find the diary still in his coat pocket.

He ran to follow the footsteps, but then paused in the doorway when a thought occurred to him. He turned back to Chilton and knelt before him.

“Chilton, it is essential you answer me,” he said. “Were you three G.R.D.?”

Chilton ignored him and rocked back and forth. Will grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

“Are you G.R.D.?” he yelled. Chilton shook his head like a frightened child.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he cried. It was evident that Chilton was telling the truth. Will stood up and stared down at him in his pitiful state. 

“You know, Chilton,” he said, taking the pleasure of the moment. “If you three had just waited longer, I would have killed the king for you.”

Chilton paused and looked at Will with confusion before he completely broke down. Will knew he wouldn’t respond to him anymore, and he’d gotten what he needed, so he left to find the footsteps.

Will followed the trail of blood into the dining room. He heard Mason’s voice, pleading something inaudible. Will couldn’t see him though because he had apparently fallen and was obstructed from Will’s view by the dining room table. 

Standing at the head of the table was Hannibal. His shirt was smeared with blood, but it was unclear whether it was his own, Tobias’, or Mason’s. He was holding his sword out, threatening Mason. When he noticed Will, his eyes brightened with delight. His body language seemed to invite Will to sit down and watch as he decided Mason’s fate.

Will didn’t sit, but he walked around to the other side of the table so he was able to see Mason. He didn’t look at all surprised to see Will, just bitter about his current position.

“You two must be good at chess. You’ve expertly timed when to use your queen,” he smirked, eyeing Will. Then he glanced at Hannibal. “And your king.”

“Both of which are more powerful than the bishop,” Hannibal said, cocking his head at Mason. “No matter how strategic he may play, the queen will always be ready to move across the board. And the king will never be far behind.”

“Papa always used to tell me that a good chess player is always ready to sacrifice pawns to win,” Mason said. “I’ve sacrificed my pawns, I think it’s time you’ve sacrificed yours.”

“You’ve hardly sacrificed enough,” said Hannibal. Will could see he was thinking something wicked from the way his eyes twinkled. “As the Archbishop it is your duty to sacrifice your body, soul, and life to God. Perhaps we can send you on the righteous path to your Heavenly Father?”

Fear showed in Mason’s eyes for a split second, but Will couldn’t deny the jolt of satisfaction seeing it gave him. Time froze as Mason tried to predict what Hannibal had planned. Then Hannibal shattered the stillness by piercing the tip of his sword into Mason’s hand. He screamed and clawed at his hand. Hannibal looked up at Will.

“Shall we?” he asked.


	19. A Conspiracy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me: updating on time. Who'dav thought. I figured I owed it to you all for keeping up with this fic for so long lol. I love this chapter, and I hope you all love it just as much! (Leave a comment if you do!!)

Will ordered all the royal guards to take double shifts over the next week. He felt security needed to be tightened after the Archbishop had been found crucified in the middle of the city the night before. The murder had made peasants and nobles alike quiver with fear. Poor Lord Chilton had been so rattled that he’d lost his senses and was sent to a mental institution in the countryside. All of London was disturbed and there had been a few riots in the poorer districts.

The only two people who didn’t seem alarmed were Will and Hannibal. They took their tea from Freddie as normal that morning and received the fearful nobles, especially Lord Franklyn who was concerned about the whereabouts of his friend Tobias who had not appeared for breakfast. Hannibal did an excellent job assuring them of their safety and they dispelled calmly.

“Your Majesty,” the Prussian Ambassador stepped forward. His movements were sharp from years of military refinement. “Do you have plans to organize your troops to search for this killer?”

“Ambassador Dolarhyde,” said Hannibal. “We already have royal guards investigating the crime scene. Jack Crawford is their commander. You have expertise you’d care to share with us I encourage you to contact him.”

“If anything comes to mind, I shall contact him immediately,” he said. He gave Will a quick glance over, as if he was assessing his threat level. It was the first time Will had heard him talk. He spoke English well, although his thick accent slowed his speech.

“Your concern is appreciated,” Hannibal said. “And I assure you that you are in no danger while within the safety of the castle.”

Dolarhyde smiled and turned away. Will was left pondering this interaction before Hannibal made some mention about the necessity of implementing his beautification plan soon.

When Will returned to his room, he was surprised to find a note on his bed. He recognized the handwriting and grabbed his attention immediately. It simply read,  _ Is replacing a tyrant with a murderer an improvement?  _ It was signed G.R.D.

No royal guards had let anyone break the perimeter, and no one had seen anyone enter Will’s room. Somehow G.R.D. had infiltrated the castle. That meant the king was in danger and Will had to act quickly. He dug out the leather journal from Chilton and skimmed through it until he found the section about the previous king’s death. It detailed the breakage of the neck, which couldn’t have occurred as observed from falling. The twisting exhibited suggested someone had forcefully twisted the king’s neck with intent to kill. They had been successful.

This information filled Will with relief that he hadn’t simply been losing his mind, but the letter from G.R.D. confused him because it seemed to imply that G.R.D. knew fully of the journal’s contents.

Will contemplated just how much G.R.D. knew and if his letter was right as he snuck out of the castle with the journal and a sense of validation. As he blended into the streets with peasants, he perceived the paranoia among them. He received more glances than usual. It was apparent that the people were barely keeping their panic at bay. Between the murder of the Archbishop and the recent plague of unsavory activity, Will understood why they felt this way.

He felt a sense of security and excitement when he finally reached Jack’s house. The Ripper would finally be caught. Will quickly glanced around, suspicious of anything or anyone that would stop him when he was so close. He didn’t wait for Jack to invite him in, but stepped through immediately after he opened the door.

“Will!” Jack said, standing at the opened door. “Is this about Countess Bloom?”

“No,” Will said. “Please close the door.”

Jack paused, appearing offput by Will’s excitement, but slowly closed the door. He watched cautiously as Will pulled out a worn leather journal from his coat.

“The scientific journal of Dr. Abel Gideon, who performed the autopsy of the deceased king,” Will announced and dropped the journal on the table.

“Will…” Jack said, a touch of warning in his voice. Will ignored him.

“Dr. Gideon details the breaking pattern of the neck that doesn’t match that found on necks broken from falling,” Will didn’t bother to hide the pride in his voice. “Rather it matches the twisting found on victims who have had their necks twisted violently.”

“Will-” Jack tried again. 

“Jack, this is conclusive evidence. You cannot deny that anymore,” Will said, angry that Jack didn’t seem as shocked or ready to believe him as he had been anticipating. “Hannibal is king because he killed his predecessor. He is a monster that abuses his power for his own amusement or to silence anyone who gets close to the truth. He is the Ripper and it’s time for us to act.”

Jack was silent, his lips pressed tightly together. Will had been expecting many reactions but not one of regret and almost...shame? His hand moved protectively towards the journal.

“You can’t argue with evidence,” Will said.

“I know,” Jack said, suddenly sounding exhausted. “I can’t keep this from you anymore.”

Jack rubbed his eyes and took a moment to gather the strength to speak.

“I’m sure you remember the last king,” Jack said. “He was a tyrant, a bloodthirsty monster and a bad ruler. The people were starving and the country was breaking apart yet he’d insist on going to war again, taking the few surviving famished men of Britain and sending them off to die for a war we’d lose anyway. The people were too powerless to do anything against him, the nobles were too afraid. The country was hitting its breaking point and something had to be done.”

“Jack-” Will knew where Jack was going but he refused to believe it.

“I had to do something,” Jack said defensively. “When the prince, and heir to the throne, approached me with a proposition to save the country, I didn’t even hesitate. He killed the king and took the throne, and as the new Commander of the Royal Guard I covered up his crime.”

“Did you know he was the Ripper?” Will asked, his voice close to breaking.

“I had my suspicions, but at the time anything seemed better than the current king,” Jack said. “And Hannibal is a good king. The people are happy and the country is thriving. Who could be fit to replace him? And how do you suppose we’d even overthrow him? We’d sooner lose our heads.”

“This whole time you knew,” Will said. “You let me chase around faint clues for months, you watched it consume me, and you allowed him to kill London citizens who were under your and his protection and you never did anything.”

“I couldn’t do anything!” Jack said. “I expected you to drop the entire thing after you failed to find any evidence.”

“It probably would have been better for both of us,” Will said bitterly. “Unfortunately, I’ve always been stubbornly persistent.”

Will stuffed the journal back into his pocket and stormed past Jack and out the door. Jack called after him, yelling about not doing anything foolish, but Will tuned him out. He focused his sight on the castle but as he made his way back he began having visions. Not really visions, more like memories. People starving in the streets, killing and robbing each other. The city in flames. Disease spreading rampantly and infecting both rich and poor. The king failing to do anything to save, or even ease the pain of his people.

He remembered how few people had actually mourned the king. The Royal Guard had been established almost immediately after his death, with Jack at the helm. Will was one of the first recruits. They had brought order back to the city, and the rioting, looting, and murdering had drastically decreased almost immediately.

Then Will remembered the Ripper’s murders, how he had taunted his victims and the royal guards. His hand brushed over his sword. He reasoned it was time for a reckoning, even if Jack didn’t agree.

Wanting to avoid royal guards, servants, and pestering questions from Freddie, Will took the secret passage he’d discovered months ago. The few servants that he crossed paths with didn’t seem suspicious of him and one of them informed him that the king was currently in the ballroom. Will instructed the royal guards in the area to leave because he had a private matter to discuss with the king. They followed his orders without question.

Hannibal was sitting on the throne at the top of the grand staircase, almost as if he had been waiting for Will. 

“Your Majesty,” Will said, his hand resting on his sword as he carefully made his way up the stairs. 

“Will,” Hannibal said, his voice uncomfortably steady and even. “You’ve been scarce today.”

“I’m afraid I had business to attend to,” he said, eyeing the heavy cloak that Hannibal was wearing. 

“I hope you worked everything out,” Hannibal said. Will narrowed his eyes.

“I have,” he said, nearing the top of the expansive staircase. “There’s just one piece that’s not finished yet.”

Will swiftly unsheathed his sword and swung it in a vast arc, picturing Hannibal’s head toppling over and rolling down the stairs leaving a red trail in its wake. Instead a jolt went up his arm and shattered his spine as Hannibal materialized a staff from beneath the velvet cape trimmed with fur. Neither the heavy cape nor the bejeweled crown seemed to hinder the king, as Will had been hoping. Realizing a fight was inevitable, he grimaced, withdrew his sword and tried again. Hannibal continued to deflect his blows with his staff. When the sword and staff met again, Will leaned into his sword in an attempt to throw Hannibal off balance, but he remained firm and returned Will’s glare with a steely gaze.

“I see you’ve talked to Jack,” Hannibal said. Will grunted and jumped back. He followed Hannibal’s movements from across the throne as Hannibal followed his. Slowly, they circled the lavish chair never taking their eyes off each other and their footsteps naturally falling into rhythm with each other. 

“Jack only confirmed what I’d already known,” Will spit. “You must’ve suspected when you stabbed me in the back, when you threw me off a balcony, when you sent Randall Tier to kill me...that this was going to happen. It was inevitable.”

“Inevitable is a dangerous word,” Hannibal said.

“That makes me even more skeptical that you didn’t expect this,” Will said. “If anything, isn’t this what you wanted all along? Kill me, and your throne and life are secured. Unless I kill you.”

“Killing me is sentencing yourself to die,” Hannibal said. “And I do not think either of us wants that.”

Will laughed, taking his eyes away only for a moment.

“If dying is what it’ll take…” Will said.

As they passed the sides of the throne, Hannibal prepared to retort. As his lips formed the words, Will pounced onto the arm of the throne. He pulled himself up and balanced his feet on either arm of the chair as he drove his sword down on Hannibal, who for a brief moment was caught off guard. It was clear he’d been shaken because he was barely able to raise his staff quickly enough to block Will’s blow. But he and Will were once again locked, until Will kicked Hannibal squarely in the chest.

Hannibal stumbled backwards caught in his fur-trimmed coat, and fell. His crown toppled off his head. Having shoved his weight into the king, Will lost his balance as well and fell besides Hannibal. The two men scrambled to regain control of the fight. But as Will reached for his sword, Hannibal already had his staff and firmly bashed Will in his shoulder with it.

He was sent sprawling down the immense staircase. He heard something shatter as he tumbled and felt a sharp pain when his head connected with the stair. The room continued to spin around him after he landed on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up to see Hannibal gazing down vindictively as royal guards appeared behind him. Will spit out blood and shakily tried to pick himself up. He was injured, but if he could just stand back up he was sure he could finish this fight. His leg collapsed behind again as the guards appeared before him. 

Two men held him by each arm and began to drag him away. He cursed at Hannibal, barely able to hear himself over the ringing in his ears, as he was pulled across ballroom floor. Hannibal returned to his seat and watched Will be taken away, with only the slightest curl of displeasure to his lips to reveal the betrayal he felt.


	20. A Choice

_ The Dragon wasn’t often surprised, but the recent assassination failure surprised him. His enemy was more cunning than he anticipated. It was clear that this was a mission to be performed personally. The thought of fresh blood on his teeth again made the Dragon shiver with excitement. This failure may not be such a failure afterall. _

  
  


After the rapid trials of Alana and the Zellers’, Will was surprised and unnerved when his head wasn’t immediately put on a spike and displayed for the city to see. Instead he’d been thrown in a tower cell and left alone for two days. No one visited; not for food, water, or to even check if he was still alive. During that time he could only pace and contemplate a possible escape. He was less motivated by surviving than by fulfilling his vow to kill Hannibal.

At night, he could hear commotion in the distance. He could never make out what was being shouted, but he didn’t doubt his name was being cursed by the peasants. Will swore he could see the glaze of orange light across the sky from his small cell window. Again he wondered why Hannibal hadn’t killed him immediately. At this point, his fate was inevitable.

There was that word again,  _ inevitable. _ Somehow, it must have a different meaning for Hannibal because he had looked betrayed, even heartbroken for lack of a better word. Yet it was impossible that he couldn’t have not foreseen Will’s murderous actions. Even though he’d put all his effort into pretending, Will doubted that Hannibal hadn’t seen through his facade of comradery. 

Then Will’s pacing slowed. Was it possible that Hannibal hadn’t suspected him because he’d chosen not to? He’d purposefully _ blinded  _ himself? That didn’t make sense to Will either, because forcing oneself into that level of delusion requires a high degree of connection and history with the other person. He and Hannibal certainly had history but not the intimate history that breeds affection for another person. If anything, it had bred only animosity.

However, even after dwelling on the question for longer, he continued to reach to the same conclusion over and over. Finally, he’d had enough and forced himself onto a different train of thought as he desperately tried to keep himself occupied until he was summoned for execution. He found himself unconsciously rubbing his neck as he considered the other question hanging over his head: the identity of G.R.D.

He’d initially thought the letters were the initials of an individual, but G.R.D. had entered the castle and Will knew of no one who fit those initials. If the letters were not initials, they’d be nearly impossible to decipher without more context. Furthermore, G.R.D.’s actions implied they had significant funds so they must fit into the nobility class, and that would have certainly given them motive. Yet, besides Tobias, Mason and Chilton, Will could conjure no other nobles rash or driven enough to undermine the king. The thought occurred to Will that perhaps G.R.D. was Freddie, but that didn’t seem correct. Killing the king wouldn’t benefit her in anyway. That meant Will’s biggest clue remained the red seal with the dragon on it. However, from within a cell there was little to nothing he could draw from that.

Will briefly wondered if the reason he hadn’t been executed yet was because G.R.D. had killed the king. The thought that someone else had succeeded in killing Hannibal made Will nauseous. He wondered if he’d still be executed if someone else had killed the king soon afterwards; He figured most probably yes.

He froze when he heard the lock down the hallway click open. He choked down his fear at the prospect of his imminent demise. When he recognized the footsteps, his fear turned to enmity. Will turned to face the back wall, not even wanting to look at Hannibal or see the smug grin on his face at Will’s helpless position.

“Hannibal,” Will said, having long ago abandoned hiding the animosity he felt. “Come to gloat at finally having me where you want me? You must take great pride in knowing your enemy will soon be disposed of.”

There was remorseful silence from Hannibal’s side. Will wondered if he had imagined the footsteps, but then Hannibal spoke.

“Surely you don’t consider us enemies?” Hannibal said. “I did not lie when I said we were friends.”

Will scoffed at this, which compelled Hannibal to continue.

“I put my full trust into you, and fully acknowledge the affection I feel towards you,” Hannibal said. Will could picture how Hannibal must be twisting his eyes to appear innocent while saying this. “And surely you cannot deny that you had shown me affection in return and entrusted me with the full knowledge of your past. We both know that neither of those were fully fabricated.”

“A good deception requires the sacrifice of some truth,” Will said, while inwardly contemplating his past mindsets.

“Perhaps,” Hannibal said. “But you’ve killed men for me. And I’ve killed men for you. Deception as a motivation crumbles when met with a matter as grave as death.”

Will struggled to find an argument to repudiate Hannibal, but was at a loss. Instead, he questioned his own motivation for killing Randall Tier. Still, he faced the wall and kept his expressions out of Hannibal’s sight. It didn’t matter much though because Hannibal still seemed able to easily read his thoughts.

“We’ve already paid each other with death,” Hannibal said. “I think you’ll agree that taking each other’s lives is too much payment for an easily overlooked debt.”

“And what debt is that?” Will asked.

“Infusing life with interest,” Hannibal said. “It is clear we are equally paired individuals that find engagement, and dare I say, pleasure in each other’s company. You were wasting away from boredom before the Ripper.”

“That implies that you in turn were wasting away from boredom before I began hunting you,” Will said. Hannibal’s silence shocked him into almost turning around. After comprehending what Hannibal was saying he asked, “So you propose we forget about my attempt to kill you? We may be able to move on but I highly doubt that the rest of London will agree with you.”

“The only thing the people enjoy more than seeing a witch burned is a sinner reformed,” Hannibal said, making Will laugh.

“Our relationship is far from the epitome of virtuous but I suppose the trick is less about what it is and more what is presented to the people,” Will paused, suddenly reviewing Hannibal’s words. He dared himself to peek over his shoulder to make eye contact with Hannibal for the first time. Will could see that even this small gesture of acknowledgement thrilled Hannibal. “And what if I say no to your offer?”

“The city has apparently taken up the cry of witchcraft. If I cannot reform you, I have no other option but to please the citizens and burn you at the stake,” Hannibal said, the sadness in his voice sounding genuine.

Will didn’t respond to him, and once again turned to face the wall. He allowed the silence to grow heavy between them, until Hannibal broke it.

“I’ve brought you food and a change of clothes,” Hannibal said. “I hope you will consider your options.”

Hannibal gingerly left the clothes and food on the floor in front of the cell, and when it was apparent that Will would not say anymore, he left down the hallway. Will could barely keep himself restrained until Hannibal left, but as soon as he heard the latch lock back into place he fell upon the food. It hadn’t even occurred to him how hungry he was until he was reminded of food and drink. After he finished the food, he reached for the clothes.

As he pulled them into the cell, he heard a small jingling noise. He blinked in confusion at the small set of silver keys lying on the cold stone floors. His fingers snatched the cold metal and upon further inspection determined that it fit into the keyhole of his cell. He couldn’t believe that Hannibal would be that foolish. This must be Hannibal’s show of absolute trust in Will, trust not to run away. Will stood, quickly wondering about the possibility of somehow finding where Beverly, Zeller and Price had escaped to, but then he paused. He gripped the key tightly, realizing as Hannibal must have, that’d he’d inevitably return to the castle.

His ran his hands through his hair, silently cursing himself for not having more willpower. He looked down at the clothes Hannibal had left him and noticed that they were all black, and he’d included a cloak. That confirmed his intentions. Hannibal had given him everything he needed, except a sword and the cover of night. As he watched the sun set in a crisp crimson hue, Will knew he would have both of those soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave kudos or a comment. I love feedback (good and bad) :)


	21. A Painting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter, I'm in a show this weekend and didn't have a ton of time but I wanted to give you guys some kind of update. I promise a very long, very exciting chapter next weekend!!
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments, I really appreciate them!!

Freeing himself from his cell, and knocking out the guards was almost too easy. Making his way to the castle with the aid of the night wasn’t any harder in the black cloak which blended into the dark smoothly. Will’s discomfort came from the people around him, as he noticed many doors and shutters with hastily painted crosses on them. From a few houses he could hear muttered, anxious praying, and from others soft sobbing. 

He safely reached the secret door into the palace, entered the passage and made his way to his old room. Lying neatly on his bed was his sword. Hannibal had left it as a welcoming gift for him, just as he’d expected. He tied the halter around his waist and hid the sword in the great folds of his cloak. Then he quietly entered the hallway and headed to where he knew Hannibal would be waiting for him.

As he turned a corner, he suddenly jumped back behind the wall. A few steps down the hallway the Prussian Ambassador had left his room. He’d also taken care to do it quietly. Will noticed he’d flung a dark red cape over his shoulders and glanced around with a chilling ferocity before he had left down the hallway. The rage in his eyes sent a shiver down Will’s back, and he couldn’t breath until he was sure the Ambassador was completely gone. When he next peered around the corner, Dolarhyde was gone as swiftly as a magician during a disappearing act. Will hoped he wouldn’t finish the show by appearing out of thin air.

Unable to forget the fury in Dolarhyde’s eyes, Will carefully tried the doorknob to his room and was distressed to find it locked. This only made his need to see what was behind the door greater. He glanced around as a caution and then pried his sword between the door and its frame. Will shoved his weight against it until the door splintered. A sickening moment passed as Will waited for nobles or royal guards to appear, or Dolarhyde himself. No one did. He pushed open the door and stepped into the room. 

Panic surged in his throat as he realized there was nothing suspicious there. He pushed his hair back, knowing this couldn’t be. However, there wasn’t even a rug out of place. His room had every typical accommodation for the guest rooms. There was a bed, night table, a wardrobe, coffee table with two chairs, desk with quill, ink and fresh paper. Pushed into the corner was a chest, which Dolarhyde must have brought himself. Inside was clothing and an extra pair of boots. Why hadn’t Dolarhyde emptied it into the wardrobe?

When Will grabbed the wardrobe’s knob, he noticed something on it that appeared to him like red paint. He squinted his eyes and then opened the cabinet. 

Before him was a painting of a dragon, it’s back contorted as its red wings unfurled over a glowing woman collapsed on the ground. The monster’s horns curled up then down to conceal his face. Whoever had set up the painting had also smeared red paint around the wardrobe and set up candles to create an alter. On the bottom of the wardrobe was the wax seal that had haunted Will since he first found it on a letter.

Will stumbled away from the closet. He unsheathed his sword and rose. He rushed to the door but then stopped as an alarm sounded in the distance. Gazing painfully down the hallway, Will couldn’t bring himself to chase after Dolarhyde. Time was now short and Hannibal was still waiting for him. He might be suspecting Will of having run away. Will had no choice but to head to the ballroom.


	22. A Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!! Here's a special thanksgiving chapter dedicated to you because I'm so thankful for my readers :)

The ballroom appeared even more expansive without the colorful masks from months ago to fill its space. Will lurked in the shadows created by the large pillars as he slinked his way closer to the grand staircase. He eyed the golden chandelier with welded prancing deer adornments that hung high above him. The cavernous room amplified his footsteps as Will crossed the threshold to the center of the room.

Hannibal was waiting patiently on the throne, just as Will had been expecting. 

“You really let your security loosen after I left,” Will taunted. He looked up at Hannibal, daring him to join him on the dance floor. Hannibal lowered his eyes and he unlatched his cape, revealing the sword at his side. He hung it against the throne, then he lifted his crown off and placed it on the throne. 

He started walking down the stairs. Each delicate step felt like it was pounding against Will’s chest. His heels clicked lightly when he reached the wooden floor. Will kept his face steady as Hannibal stopped before him. He was close enough that Will could smell wine on his breath. Digging through his pocket, he held up the key.

“You dropped this,” Will said. “I thought it only right to return it to you.”

Hannibal gently wrapped his hand around Will’s. Will hoped he didn’t notice the tremble it sent through his arm. The warmth of Hannibal’s hand was distracting, and Will had to focus all his energy into remembering where his sword was. As his free hand inched towards his sword, his other hand held tightly onto Hannibal’s.

When he knew that if he waited any longer he’d lose all power to finish his task, Will pulled Hannibal towards him. Hannibal’s eyes widened as his mind rapidly assessed what was happening. Then Will swung his sword from beneath his cloak. His cloak unfurled like wings while his sword created an arc through the air that Hannibal was barely able dodge. The key fell to the floor. A fine red line appeared on the arm that Hannibal had raised to protect his face.

Both men looked at the drops of blood, then at each other. Hannibal’s face darkened as he purposefully unsheathed his own sword, which refracted the chandelier light, making it dance around the room.

“It’s been too long since this floor has been danced on,” Hannibal said. “This wasn’t what I had in mind.”

Will raised his sword threateningly.

“You must be disappointed that one of your pawns had strayed from your plans,” Will said, then lunged forward.

His sword met Hannibal’s with a scrap of metal on metal. Will sprung for Hannibal’s legs, but he hopped backwards. While Will was leaning down, Hannibal swung his sword downwards, aiming for his head. Will rolled to the side and the sword stuck into the wood. Hannibal was able to pull it out before Will’s next attack. 

Together they attacked and deflected each other’s blows, and unconsciously found themselves moving away from the ballroom floor. While stepping back to absorb one of Hannibal’s blows, Will’s back hit into one of the pillars. It wasn’t until then that he realized how far he’d moved, and also that he was now backed up against a pillar. Hannibal realized it too and attacked again. Will barely ducked out of the way, and Hannibal took a chip out of the plaster.

Will jumped up behind the pillar, effectively hiding himself from Hannibal. He peeked his head around, and seeing Hannibal’s back, he thrusted his sword towards him. Hannibal turned to catch the attack. Their swords met for a moment as they glared at each other, before they both pushed away. They were both breathing hard.

“Do you expect this to bring Abigail back?” Hannibal asked. “Or Beverly? Alana?”

Will lunged forward to attack.

“Do you feel you need to seek revenge for them?” Hannibal asked, parring Will’s blow. “Revenge stems from guilt. Do you feel guilt for them?”

Will didn’t answer, he just continued to push Hannibal backwards with his attacks.

“Guilty because you pushed them to their current situations?” Hannibal asked. “Or guilty because after all their suffering, you still found pleasure in my company?”

“I never enjoyed myself with you,” Will growled. “I want you dead.”

Hannibal smirked.

“If that was true then you would have let G.R.D. kill me,” Hannibal said. Will straightened as his eyes widened, before his eyebrows furrowed together in anger. This reaction made Hannibal smile as he continued, “You stayed because you couldn’t leave. But you also couldn’t admit this to yourself, so you fabricated the motivation of wanting to kill me.”

Will shook his head, too violently. 

“No, I want to kill you because you are a monster and a tyrant,” he hissed. Hannibal’s eyebrows raised for a moment.

“A country shrivels and dies under a tyrant,” Hannibal said. “Britain is currently thriving, more than it has been for decades.”

Will swung his sword again, making Hannibal jump backwards. He eyed the hallway door, then quickly ran through it. Will chased after him. Hannibal paused outside the doorway to a balcony. Will sprung forward, his sword dancing with Hannibal’s. Slowly, Hannibal backed onto the balcony. Will followed him. The sky was inflamed with stars that made it easy to find his target.

“Look’s like it’s between my sword and the drop,” Will said sinisterly, nudging his head towards the balcony’s edge. “Your choice.”

“If you truly wanted to aid the country, you’d support it’s ruler,” Hannibal said. The wind made Will’s cloak bellow as he approached Hannibal, who was trapped between him and the balcony edge.

Then Will noticed Hannibal’s face was framed by distant firelight. In a distracted moment, Will glanced out to the city. His stomach turned as he realized what he’d mistaken for stars were torchlights. The entire city seemed engulfed in flames as hysteria consumed its citizens. It threatened to suffocate Will now, but he redirected his fear towards Hannibal. He plunged his sword towards him.

Hannibal raised his sword to block his blow, but Will slid his blade lower. Suddenly he twisted it around Hannibal’s, whose sword was flicked out of his hands. Hannibal looked at the fallen sword, which Will stood in front of. A solemn expression gripped his face.

“Look what you’ve done to this city!” Will said, pushing his sword against Hannibal’s throat. “It’s in flames.”

“That’s because of you,” Hannibal said.

Will’s expression froze. His eyebrows pressed together, trying to expel Hannibal’s words or find some counterargument. His hand began to shake at the thought of the destruction of the city being his fault, after he’d sworn to protect it. A smile pulled at Hannibal’s lips as he saw Will’s breathing becoming uneven. 

Trying desperately to push away the thoughts, Will raised his sword again, pushing himself to finish it. All he needed was to move his sword. Even just an inch would do it, take Hannibal’s life. The thought made Will itch with excitement, but he couldn’t raise his sword. His head throbbed and he felt his organs crawling up his throat. Just an inch. Was it his fault? He was to blame for Beverly. And Alana. And Abigail. And now the city was burning to the ground to find him. Its citizens were afraid of him, not the monster before him.

But he couldn’t do it. He felt the sword slipping through his fingers as his feet stepped backwards. He stumbled back into the ballroom. The balcony was suddenly too claustrophobic and the night suffocating and Hannibal’s stare too sharp. He needed the great open space of the ballroom.

Will nearly collapsed in the center of the room. His hair fell to the sides of his face as he focused on his breathing, and tried desperately to pull himself together. Hannibal’s steady footsteps sounded behind him, coming closer. Then he saw a shadow appear next to him, and he looked to see Hannibal kneeling beside him. His eyes were wide, caring, and begging Will to confide in him. He offered his hand, and Will took it.

Hannibal pulled Will up, and they stood close to each other for a moment. Will left his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Then, Hannibal quickly broke eye contact to hand Will back his sword. Will took it and tucked it back into his sheath.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” a voice taunted. 

Will and Hannibal both snapped up at the voice. They glared up at the Prussian Ambassador Dolarhyde, who was encircling the throne, gazing down bitterly at it. He picked up the crown and glared at it.

“You do not deserve this,” he said.

“G.R.D.” Will hissed. Dolarhyde’s face contorted into a mask of anger.

“I am the Great Red  _ Dragon _ ,” he said, nearly howling by the ending of the sentence. The name reverberated through the room, shaking the chandelier. Will repeated the name underneath his breath, understanding the initials.

Dolarhyde raised his head to the ceiling, and deeply breathed through his nostrils as if absorbing the energy in the air and sending it through his veins. He tore off his shirt, and Will caught a glimpse of what looked like a claw curled over the skin of his shoulder. Then Dolarhyde turned and picked up the two swords he’d left resting on the throne. 

When he turned, the full extent of Dolarhyde’s tattoo could be seen. It was the same dragon that Will had seen in Dolarhyde’s wardrobe, except now it had been ingrained onto his back in red-toned ink. Then the tattoo was gone again as Dolarhyde turned to walk down the staircase. Will could still see remnants from the dragon in Dolarhyde’s snarl.

“Prussia has worked centuries to propel herself to her current position,” Dolarhyde said, stalking down the staircase. “Britain is too dangerous a threat to be allowed to prosper. So Prussia sent her fiercest warrior to topple the demon empire.” 

Will glanced at Hannibal to gauge his reaction. He remembered a few treaties made with Prussia that he’d read over Hannibal’s shoulder. It didn’t make sense that Prussia would send a spy to kill Britain’s ruler, when they were making peace treaties with Hannibal, and were in a generally better relationship with Britain now than with its previous ruler. Judging from the reaction on Hannibal’s face, he was equally as suspicious as Will.

“Tzar Peter II sent you on this mission?” Hannibal asked, scrutinizing Dolarhyde’s face. 

Dolarhyde recoiled. 

“The Tzar doesn’t comprehend the danger Britain poses,” Dolarhyde snarled. “It was the spirit of the Great Red Dragon that sent me to destroy the beast.”

Dolarhyde swung his two swords, testing them out as he reached the ballroom floored. He continued to approach them, but glanced at Will.

“I was expecting you two to destroy each other,” he said. “But perhaps this is better. Now the Dragon can feed upon two.”

Will and Hannibal both unsheathed their swords, and took a step away from each other. As Dolarhyde neared them, they each drifted towards a side of him. He glanced at each them, then raised a sword to either side. Then he thrust both swords out.

Hannibal dealt his blow down, while Will redirected Dolarhyde’s other sword up and then lunged to attack his now vulnerable left side. Dolarhyde’s reflexes were sharp and he recovered instantly. He simultaneously blocked Will’s blow and attacked Hannibal again. Will was impressed how easily he could fight two different techniques at once.

The four swords clashed again. When Hannibal and Will moved to attack at the same time, Dolarhyde twisted his swords into an X. This drew both men close as they pushed their swords against his. After a long struggle, Dolarhyde noted a key weakness and kicked Hannibal. He fell backwards, and in a moment of distracted concern, Dolarhyde slashed at Will. He jumped backwards, but the sword slashed through his shirt and left a deep red line across his chest. Will remained collapsed on the floor. Having successfully isolated and distressed him, Dolarhyde focused his attention on Hannibal.

Dolarhyde twirled his two sabers, sending air rushing at Hannibal. He was being forced to adapt his fighting style to two swords, making his movements much more rapid than he was accustomed to. Hannibal curled his lips, knowing that Dolarhyde was aware of this. Hannibal made an effort to push back harder against Dolarhyde’s attacks.

Then out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal noted Will had picked himself up yet hadn’t returned to the fight. He could see a pool of blood where Will had fallen and more blood seeping from the wound in his chest, and at first Hannibal was worried Will was too injured to fight, or worse, that Will was abandoning him. 

But then he noticed what Will was limping towards and a smile rose on his face. He focused back on Dolarhyde and began pushing him backwards. Every few seconds he glanced up. As he neared the target though when he looked up, Dolarhyde, having apparently caught onto the pattern, caught him off guard. Dolarhyde slashed one sword at Hannibal’s leg and the other at his sword hand. Hannibal was able to block the blow to his sword hand, but he wasn’t quick enough to dodge the cut across his leg. Thick blood began to ooze from his leg, and he fell down on one knee.

Dolarhyde sneered down at him and drew his two swords on either side of Hannibal’s neck.

“It will please you to know that the Red Dragon will devour your life,” Dolarhyde said, then added tauntingly, “Your Majesty.”

“I fear that you have not played much chess,” Hannibal said, smiling up at Dolarhyde, whose face twitched. “But you should never take your eye off the queen.”

It was then that Dolarhyde glanced towards Will, who was standing next to the rope that held up the chandelier. Dolarhyde looked up to see the chandelier hanging directly above his head. When he looked back at Will, he had already cut the rope.

Dolarhyde dropped his swords, and roared at the crashing chandelier. Will lunged himself at Hannibal, pushing him out of the way of the chandelier. 

They slid across the floor, narrowly avoiding the chandelier. Will pressed his head into Hannibal’s shoulder to protect against glass shards, and Will pulled Hannibal into his neck. After the deafening crash, Will stayed on Hannibal for a few seconds, listening to both of their heavy breathing.  He raised his head, his hair falling around his face, and looked at Hannibal to see if he was alright.

Hannibal was beaming up at him. He pushed a lock of his hair back behind his ear. Then he frowned, and ran his hand across Will’s chest. Will cringed and Hannibal’s hand came back bloody.

“You’re hurt,” Hannibal said, his now bloody hand gripping Will’s face. Will pulled away, leaving a bloody handprint on his face.

“I’ll be alright,” he said. “You’re hurt too. I’d say this makes us even.”

Then they heard a groan from the chandelier. Hannibal and Will leaned against each other, and carefully treaded the glass to the other side of the chandelier. It seemed Dolarhyde had tried to jump out of the chandelier’s radius, but hadn’t made it far enough. His legs were crushed beneath the heavy golden chandelier frame. Now only his tattooed back was free. He writhed, making the dragon writhe with him. He looked up at Hannibal and Will, his eyes overflowing with rage and his mouth nearly foaming at the mouth.

“The Great Red Dragon will  _ devour you, _ ” he promised. Hannibal and Will both unsheathed their swords. 

Hannibal neatly chopped his head off, but Will drove his sword through the center of Dolarhyde’s back, where the Red Dragon’s heart would have been. Hannibal picked up the head and examined its permanent snarl.

“I think this would make a fine addition to the Tower of London spiked heads collection,” he said. Will smiled.

“I’m sure Prussia won’t be very happy with us,” Will said, joining Hannibal in looking at the head. “Although, I’m sure Prussia, and all the citizens of London, would be very relieved to learn that we caught a witch trying to kill the king.”

“Yes, Prussia would surely forgive us,” Hannibal said. “And the citizens of London will forgive you and forget any misunderstanding.”

Then Hannibal glanced remorsefully at the chandelier.

“The chandelier is a great misfortune,” Hannibal said. Will turned away from him.

“You can get a new one,” he said, then sucked in his breath. He fell to one knee and clutched his chest. Hannibal limped over to him. He put his hand on his shoulder.

“Shall we tend your wounds?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did, please leave kudos or a comment! If there's anything you wished I had included, leave a comment!
> 
> This story is almost over :( (almost but not yet!!) but I have some ideas for future fics and I'll be taking suggestions if anyone has an AU/story/idea they'd like to read. So leave a comment if you do!


	23. No More Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, it's so sad that this is over. I hope you all enjoyed this fic a lot, I know I had a blast writing it. I already mentioned this, but if anyone has any requests send me a message. And stayed tuned because I'll hopefully have another fic up and running soon!

Viewing the ball from the top of the stairs created a completely different image than before, when Will had been suffocated by it. From far away it now looked much like a painting, the artist in the midst of blending the shades together to create a picture. Will wondered what it might look like once the dancers stopped.

“It’s very different to see a ball from above,” said Hannibal.

“To feel like a god?” asked Will.

“It inspires one to join humanity, if only briefly, to taste of their splendor,” said Hannibal. He smiled up at Will, who was standing to the left of the throne. “Would you join me for a dance?”

“Perhaps later,” Will said, but returned his smile. 

“If you are not ready for dancing, at least let us grace the floor with our presence,” said Hannibal. Will caved in with a sigh. Hannibal stood with a flourish, and elegantly made his way down the stairs. Will followed behind him, keeping a bored expression. His combed-back hair stayed in place for once.

When they reached the floor, they were rushed by nobles, which is to be expected of the king. They gushed about the extravagant party to celebrate the completion of the first stage of the beautification initiative, and how it truly was a success, and how excited they were to see it expanded, and they also couldn’t believe how stunningly gorgeous the new chandelier was, even better than the last, although what happened to the last one was such a shame.

Will smirked to himself and glanced at the two ropes on opposite sides of the room that held up the current chandelier.

“I must say I was rather surprised to hear you didn’t wish to have a masquerade ball,” Will said. Hannibal looked at him, his eyes glimmering.

“I felt we had worn masks for long enough,” he said. “I wanted to see your face.”

The nobles continued to balk at the king. Then he felt a hand firmly squeeze his shoulder. He turned to find Jack with an impatient look in his eyes. Will lightly tapped Hannibal’s shoulder before he left. He followed Jack out of the ballroom, down the hallway, and into one of the unoccupied rooms.

“Is everything alright, Jack?” Will asked smoothly, which seemed to irritate Jack more.

“Will, I thought you’d be pleased to know that I’ve recently met a nice, young Baroness who has a lovely estate in the countryside. Baroness Chiyoh is a bachelorette, and she’s far from homely and very rich. She’d be more than happy to invite you to her estate for a visit-”

“What is this really about?” Will asked. His eyes narrowed. “Hannibal?”

Jack froze. He seemed to deliberate for a moment whether or not to continue the charade. Apparently, he decided against it.

“I don’t like what’s happened to you,” Jack said, as if forcefully trying to turn back time. “You’ve become...darker, colder. Your relationship with Hannibal is unhealthy. And what you said about him, about him being the Ripper...It’s gotten worse. The people are happier because they’re blinded by these new parks, but the missing person rate has increased.”

Jack could see he had caught Will’s attention.

“The few prostitutes and drunkards we found the bodies of had their organs missing, just like the Ripper,” Jack said. “And there are still the two nobles, Tobias and Franklyn, that are unaccounted for.”

“Are you planning to do something about it?” asked Will. Jack took a breath, feeling encouraged by Will’s interest.

“I think I’ve found someone,” Jack said. “A noble who lives in the country. He’s on the young side, but from what I’ve seen he’d make a fine ruler and he certainly has the title and heritage to push him towards inheriting the throne. Hannibal doesn’t have an heir, he doesn’t even have a queen or seem interested in one. If we can just influence Hannibal towards choosing him as an heir, then we can-”

“Jack,” Will said, glancing towards the floor. He rested his hand on his sword, and Jack noticed his lips were pursed. Then he looked straight towards Jack. “I’m afraid you’ve been working yourself too hard.” 

Jack paused, about to argue. Will raised his hand and tilted his head.

“You need to go back to the party and enjoy yourself,” he said. Jack frowned, not satisfied with this answer. Will turned to leave, but Jack took a step forward.

“I’ve tracked them down,” he said. “Beverly, Price and Zeller. I’ve booked passage for two on a boat to France. Leaves tomorrow afternoon.”

Will didn’t move for a solid second. His hand remained perched on his sword. Jack tried desperately to decipher Will’s thoughts. His heart sunk when Will turned with a raised, amused eyebrow.

“I regret to say you’ll have to go alone. I made an oath to protect this city and its ruler,” he said, then smiled. It may have been intended to comfort Jack, but it sent a shiver down his spine. “Jack, go back to the party. Relax, enjoy yourself. I am your boss, so that’s an order.”

He turned to leave, but paused when he reached the door.

“But if you decide to stay,” he said, glancing back at Jack. “Hannibal and I would simply love to have you for dinner sometime.”

He returned to the party, and scanned the crowded floor for Hannibal. It was easy to spot him by the group of nobles around him. Hannibal’s smile widened when he saw Will approaching. Will joined him at his side. He kept an eye open for Jack, but didn’t see him for the rest of the party.

After the ball was over and the guests had left, Will and Hannibal remained in the empty ballroom. It’s floor was still littered with trampled flowers, bits of confetti, and a few splotches of spilled wine. Both men stood on the edge of the dance floor as if still watching a dance. It was the only spot cleaned by the sweep of the gowns. Will noted that the ballroom floored had been refurbished so well that he couldn’t see the indents where the chandelier had crashed.

“What did Jack want?” Hannibal asked. Will raised his eyebrow and leaned towards Hannibal.

“It seems he’s been obsessing over staging your overthrow,” he said, taking a sip of wine. Hannibal’s smile turned into a feigned disappointed pout.

“We can’t allow that to come to fruition,” he said.

“He’s also become convinced that the Ripper is still at large and may even be ruling the country,” Will added. He expected Hannibal to frown or at least look startled. Instead he smiled with the twinkle of an idea behind his eyes.

“A shame for Jack, if he had simply listened to you a little sooner he may have found more sympathetic ears. It is true that the Ripper was never caught and it still causes anxiety upon the lower classes,” he said. “I’m sure their fears will finally be assuaged once he is apprehended. Yet they may be equally shocked to learn that the Commander of the Royal Guard had been the Ripper.”

Hannibal joined Will in his wine tasting. Will laughed as he realized what Hannibal was implying.

“Even Jack will be surprised,” he joked. Hannibal sipped his wine proudly.

“Quite a delectable dish tonight,” he commented.

“Yes,” Will said. “She was tasty. And very fit. Must’ve been all that exercise.”

Hannibal chuckled at the thought. Then he moved closer to Will, till they were only a few inches away. Will flicked his eyes at him.

“Is there something you want?” he asked bluntly. Hannibal looked down in exaggerated sadness.

“I only thought that it was rather unfair to you that you stayed beside me all night without partaking in the festivities,” Hannibal pointed out. A smile teased at Will’s lips. His eyelids lowered.

“What festivities are you referring to?” he asked.

“Well, would you care to join me for that dance now?” Hannibal asked. Will took his time deciding, waiting till Hannibal was nearly drooling. Then he carefully placed down his wine glass. Hannibal smiled, took a deep bow, and offered his hand. Will returned the smile, and took Hannibal’s hand.


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very Hannigram heavy story (bc I love Hannigram), but here's some Marlana bc its also incredible and I couldn't help myself. Enjoy!

Alana snuggled closer into the crook of Margot’s arm. Many monotonous days in cold church pews make a person appreciate the warmth and softness of another body. She could hear the church bells ringing through window, through which light was also coming into Margot’s cluttered room. Margot stirred, awakened by the bells.

“We’d better we going,” she muttered, still half-asleep. Alana stayed still for a moment, but a kiss from Margot on her forehead spurred her into action. They lazily picked out their black nun robes from their shared pile of clothing, now cold from sitting on the floor.

“I think this is your veil,” Margot said, handing the black fabric to Alana. But Alana was distracted by a letter on Margot’s desk, lying atop her dusty bible.

“What’s this?” Alana asked. “It has the king’s sigil.”

“Oh that?” Margot said. “I’m not sure. I forgot about it until now.”

Margot motioned that Alana could open it, and she promptly did. She couldn’t help letting out a giggle as she skimmed over it.

“I’m sorry to say,” she laughed, “but it seems your brother is  _ dead. _ ”

“Dead?” Exclaimed Margot with excitement. “About time. How?”

“Murdered.”

“You’re joking,” Margot said as she peered over Alana’s shoulder. Alana shuddered at Margot’s touch on her bare skin.

“Not only murdered,” she said. “ _ Crucified. _ ”

“That is a heavenly form of justice,” Alana said, shaking her head with disbelief. “Maybe there really is a god.”

“It says you’ve been freed from your servitude,” Alana said, suddenly finding her joy diminished by the thought of Margot abandoning her. Margot brushed her hand through Alana’s hair.

“And leave the holy work I’ve been doing here?” She said, lightly kissing Alana’s neck. “I couldn’t do that.”

Margot took the letter and tore it.

“London’s too dirty and loud for me anyway,” she said.

“At least here we have nice view,” Alana agreed.

“A heavenly view,” Margot added. “If I do say so myself.”


End file.
